The door is now open, and the good man has paused from his work (he had just discovered a new emendation in the first chorus of the "Medea") to look out at the rosy faces that gleam to and fro across the scene.

His wife, with a basket in her hand, is standing without the door, but a little aside, not to obstruct the view.
"It does one's heart good to see them," said the vicar, "little dears!" "Yes, they ought to be dear at this time of the year," observed Mrs.
Fielden, who was absorbed in the contents of the basket.
"And so fresh!" "Fresh, indeed,--how different from London! In London they were not fit to be seen,--as old as---I am sure I can't guess how old they were.

But you see here they are new laid every morning!" "My dear," said Mr.Fielden, opening his eyes,--"new laid every morning!" "Two dozen and four." "Two dozen and four! What on earth are you talking about, Mrs.Fielden ?" "Why, the eggs, to be sure, my love!" "Oh," said the vicar, "two dozen and four! You alarmed me a little; 't is of no consequence,--only my foolish mistake.

Always prudent and saving, my dear Sarah,--just as if poor Sir Miles had not left us that munificent fortune, I may call it." "It will not go very far when we have our young ones to settle.

And David is very extravagant already; he has torn such a hole in his jacket!" At this moment up the gravel-walk two young persons came in sight.