With the comforting idea that I would not have long to bear this, I bathed my eyes, and walked away from the house to try and find a cooler spot.  The children saw me depart but not return, to judge from a discussion of myself which I heard in the dining-room, which adjoined my bed-chamber.

Peter came home, and the children clustered around to tell the news.

“Did she come?”

“Yes.”

“Wot’s she like?”

“Oh, a rale little bit of a thing, not as big as Lizer!

“And, Peter, she hes teeny little hands, as wite as snow, like that woman in the picter ma got off of the tea.”

“Yes, Peter,” chimed in another voice; “and her feet are that little that she don’t make no nise wen she walks.”

“It ain’t only becos her feet are little, but cos she’s got them beautiful shoes like wot’s in picters,” said another.

“Her hair is tied with two great junks of ribbing, one up on her head an’ another near the bottom; better than that bit er red ribbing wot Lizer keeps in the box agin the time she might go to town some day.”

“Yes,” said the voice of Mrs M’Swat, “her hair is near to her knees, and a plait as thick as yer arm; and wen she writ a couple of letters in a minute, you could scarce see her hand move it was that wonderful quick; and she uses them big words wot you couldn’t understand without bein’ eddicated.”

“She has tree brooches, and a necktie better than your best one wots you keeps to go seeing Susie Duffy in,” and Lizer giggled slyly.

“You shut up about Susie Duffy, or I’ll whack yuz up aside of the ear,” said Peter angrily.

“She ain’t like ma.  She’s fat up here, and goes in like she’d break in the middle, Peter.”

“Great scissors! she must be a flyer,” said Peter.  I’ll bet she’ll make you sit up, Jimmy.”

“I’ll make her sit up,” retorted Jimmy, who came next to Lizer.—­She thinks she’s a toff, but she’s only old Melvyn’s darter, that pa has to give money to.”

“Peter,” said another, “her face ain’t got them freckles on like yours, and it ain’t dark like Lizer’s.  It’s reel wite, and pinky round here.”

“I bet she won’t make me knuckle down to her, no matter wot colour she is,” returned Peter, in a surly tone.

No doubt it was this idea which later in the afternoon induced him to swagger forward to shake hands with me with a flash insolent leer on his face.  I took pains to be especially nice to him, treating him with deference, and making remarks upon the extreme heat of the weather with such pleasantness that he was nonplussed, and looked relieved when able to escape.  I smiled to myself, and apprehended no further trouble from Peter.

The table for tea was set exactly as it had been before, and was lighted by a couple of tallow candles made from bad fat, and their odour was such as my jockey travelling companion of the day before would have described as a tough smell.