I think he can't make any money--well, it's everybody's cry alike nowadays--and it makes him disagreeable." "It would ME," said Paul.
"Well, one can't wonder at it.

And he let me have--how much do you think he let me have THIS for ?" She took the dish out of its rag of newspaper, and stood looking on it with joy.
"Show me!" said Paul.
The two stood together gloating over the dish.
"I LOVE cornflowers on things," said Paul.
"Yes, and I thought of the teapot you bought me--" "One and three," said Paul.
"Fivepence!" "It's not enough, mother." "No.

Do you know, I fairly sneaked off with it.

But I'd been extravagant, I couldn't afford any more.

And he needn't have let me have it if he hadn't wanted to." "No, he needn't, need he," said Paul, and the two comforted each other from the fear of having robbed the pot man.
"We c'n have stewed fruit in it," said Paul.
"Or custard, or a jelly," said his mother.
"Or radishes and lettuce," said he.
"Don't forget that bread," she said, her voice bright with glee.
Paul looked in the oven; tapped the loaf on the base.
"It's done," he said, giving it to her.
She tapped it also.
"Yes," she replied, going to unpack her bag.