Jessie. [Stroking the silk.] O Mother, the feel of it be softer nor a dove’s feather.

Robin. [Feeling it too.] ‘Tis better nor the new kittens’ fur.

Emily.  Let us see if your aunt have done more handsomely towards you children.

Clara.  I am afraid not.  These coral beads are for Miss Jessie, with her aunt’s dear love.  And this book of pictures is for Master Robin.

Jessie. [Seizing the beads with delight.] I love a string of beads. [Putting them on.] How do they look on me?

Emily.  Off with them this moment.  I’ll learn her to give strings of rubbish to my child.

Jessie. [Beginning to cry.] O do let me wear it just a little while, just till dinner, Mother.

Emily.  Have done with that noise.  Off with it at once, do you hear.

Jessie. [Taking the necklace off.] I love the feel of it—­might I keep it in my hand then?

Emily. [Seizing it.] ’Twill be put by with the silk dress.  So there.  ’Tis not a suitable thing for a little girl like you.

Robin. [Looking up from the pages of his book.] No one shan’t take my book from me.  There be pictures of great horses and sheep and cows in it—­and no one shan’t hide it from me.

Emily. [Putting the silk dress and necklace on another table.] Next time your aunt wants to throw her money into the gutter I hope as she’ll ask me to come and see her a-doing of it.

Jessie. [Coming up to Clara very tearfully.] And was there naught for Dad in the great box?

Clara.  Perhaps there may be.

Robin.  And did Aunt Clara bring naught for Georgie?

Clara.  I don’t know.

Jessie.  Poor Georgie.  He never has nothing gived him.

Robin.  And Mother puts the worst of the bits on his plate at dinner.

Emily. [Sharply.] Look you here, young woman.  Suppose you was to take and do something useful with that idle pair of hands as you’ve got.

Clara.  Yes, mistress, I should like to help you in something.

Emily.  Us knows what fine promises lead to.

Clara.  But I mean it.  Do let me help a little.

Emily.  See them taters?

Clara.  Yes.

Emily.  Take and peel and wash them and get them ready against when I wants to cook them.

Clara. [A little doubtfully.] Yes—­I’ll—­I’ll try —

Emily.  Ah, ’tis just as I thought.  You’re one of them who would stir the fire with a silver spoon rather nor black their hands with the poker.

Clara. [Eagerly.] No, no—­it isn’t that.  I’ll gladly do them. 
Come, Miss Jessie, you will shew me if I do them wrongly, won’t you?

Jessie.  O yes, I’ll help you because I like you, Joan.