ward, but paused at a sound of dismal bumping on the staircase leading up from the passage.
“That’s Elizabeth Ann,” said Mrs. Mayow CM Punk Tröjor composedly, “or Heber, or both. We shall know when they get to the bottom. My dear, you must be perishing for a cup of tea. Oh, it’s Elizabeth Ann! Cherry, go and smack her, and tell her what I’ll do if she falls downstairs again. It’s all Matthew Henry’s fault.” Here she turned on the naked urchin with the churchwarden pipe. “If he’d only been home to his time —”
“I was listening Montreal Impact to Zeke Penhaligon,” said Matthew Henry (aged eight). “He’s home today in the Touch-me-not.”
“He’s no good to King nor country,” said Mrs. Mayow.
“He was telling me about a man that got swallowed by a whale —”
“Go away with your Jonahses!” sneered one of his sisters.
“It wasn’t Jonah. This man’s name was Jones —Captain Jones, from Dundee. A whale swallowed him; but, as it happened, the whale had swallowed a cask just before, and the Mexico Dresy cask stuck in its stomach. So whatever the whale swallowed after that went into the cask, and did the whale no good. But Captain Jones had plenty to eat till he cut his way out with a clasp-knife —”
“How could he?”
“That’s all you know. Zeke says he did. A whale always turns that way up when he’s dying. So Captain Jones cut his Maillot Gerrard way into daylight, when, what does he see but a sail, not a mile away! He fell on his knees —”
“How could he, you silly? He’d have slipped.”
But at this point Cherry swept the family off to bed. Mrs. Mayow, putting forth unexpected strength, carried the tubs out to the back-yard, and poured the soapy water into the harbour. Hester, having borrowed a touzer,* tucked up her sleeves and fell to tidying the kitchen. Mr. Mayow went on tuning his FC Barcelone fiddle. It was against his Maillot Feyenoord principles Brendan Smith Tröja to work on a Saturday night.
* Tout-serve, apron.
“Your Peuterey Męskie Shooter Yd wife seems very strong,” observed Hester, with a shade of reproach in her voice.
“Strong as a Martin Jones Tröjor horse,” he assented cheerfully. “I call it wonnerful after what she’ve a-gone through. ‘Twouldn’ surprise me, one o’ these days, to hear she’d taken up a tub with the cheeld in it, and heaved cheeld and all over the quay-door. She’s terrible absent in her mind.”
Mrs. Mayow came panting back with a kettleful of water, which she set to boil; AC Milan Fotbalové Dres and, Cherry now reappearing with the report that all the children were safe abed, the three women sat around the fire awaiting their supper, and listening to the voice of the Cheap Jack Maillot Portugal Enfant without.
“We’ll step out and have a look at him by-and-by,” said Cherry.
“For my part,” Mrs. Mayow murmured, with her eyes on the fire, “I never hear one of those fellers without wishing I had a million of money. There’s so FC Dallashome Dresy many little shiny pots and pans you could go on buying for ever and ever, just like Heaven!”
She sighed as she poured the boiling water into the teapot. On Saturday nights, when the children were packed off, a deep peace always flinks:
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