sitting down to your work a little while after it's time to put by."
"Munny, my iron's twvite told; pease put it down to warm."
The small chirruping voice that uttered this request came from a little sunny-haired girl between three and four, who, seated on a high chair at the end of the ironing-table, was arduously clutching the handle of a miniature iron with her tiny fat fist, and ironing rags with an assiduity that required her to put her little red tongue out as far as anatomy would allow.
"Cold, is it, my darling? Bless your sweet face!" said Mrs Poyser, who was remarkable for the facility with which she could relapse from her official objurgatory tone to one of fondness or of friendly converse. "Never mind! Mother's done her ironing now. She's going to put the ironing things away."
"Munny, I tould 'ike to do into de barn to Tommy, to see de whittawd."
"No, no, no; Totty ud get her feet wet," said Mrs Poyser, carrying away her iron. "Run into the dairy, and see cousin Hetty make the butter."
"I tould 'ike a bit o' pum-take," rejoined Totty, who seemed to be provided with several relays of
