"A whistle's a whistle, old or young, and made to be whistled with.

We'll keep this to amuse children with: you carry it in your pocket.

Perhaps we shall meet some children on the journey; and it'll be so nice for you to pop this out of your pocket, and give it to them to blow." "So it will, Mercy, I declare.

That 'ud be real nice.

You're a master-piece for thinkin' o' things." And, easily diverted as a child, the old woman dropped the whistle into her deep pocket, and, forgetting all her tears, returned to her packing.
Not so Mercy.