"After tea!" echoed Delia reproachfully. I went at once.
A fortnight has passed since then. Once more Archibill makes cheerful murmuring noises on the hearth. He looks, I fancy, older; otherwise there is little change to record.
Yesterday morning I received Gramshaw's bill: "To putting new Bottom to patent Whistling Kettle, and repairing Spout—£0 2s. 9d."
Delia says it's worth twenty two-and-ninepences to listen to Archibill calling her when he boils.
