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 me, catches up the kit, together with a mighty billy by the door—and shoots: out again.

“Who’s up there?” asks Mother, “and how are they gettin’ along?”

“First-rate! They reckon to be done to-night,” says Nance. “Benny’s there, of course, and Bruv and Sandy; Flo and Bonny have been there most of the time, and. . . Hugh is helping.” Nance hesitated a little before that last name, and it seemed to me she blushed ever so slightly, too. If she did, however, Mother took no notice.

“That’s good. And how’s the ducks?” said she.

“There, now!” replies Nance ruefully. “I do wish you hadn’t asked; I was hoping to break it to you gently. All gone, mother! Poor Waddle, all her babies gone! Rats, we think; so we’ve moved Toddle and her little lot. But oh, Mother! what do you think? We’ve had somebody after the place!”

“That’s good,” says Mother again, taking the translation of the little Waddles as equably as she takes everything else. “Likely, d’you think?”

“Bruv says so,” Nance replies. “Dad would be pleased, wouldn’t he? He’d have us all up at that new Bush place in a twinkling. Only—you do get fond of a place you’ve done the settling of yourself, don’t you, Mum? It’ll seem a bit hard to move on.”

“Well, but after all that’s what we settled it for, isn’t it?” returns Mother comfortably. “Bring out the sewin’, will you? Machine still all right?” And, while Nance and I clear away, she establishes herself in a good light with a pile of dilapidated shirts, and a half-made white muslin