They had moved Ellen's bed downstairs as a way of getting on better with the possibility of her being bedridden all that winter, and the tiny whispered moan recalled him to the dread that as the half yearly term came around, what with doctor's bills and delicacies, the mortgage dragon would have not even his sop of interest, and remain whole and threatening as before.
When Ellen was able to sit up in bed the mother moved her sewing in beside it.

Then Peter would sit on the other side of the lamp with a book, and the walls of the House rose up from its pages gilded finely, and the lights would come out and the dancing begin, but before he could get more than a word with the Princess, he would hear Ellen: "Peter, oh, Peter! I wish you wouldn't be always with your nose in a book.

I wish you would talk sometimes." "What about, Ellen ?" "Oh, Peter, you are the _worst_.

I should think you would take some interest in things." "What sort of things ?" Peter wished to know.
"Why, who comes in the store, and what they say, and everything." "Mrs.Sleason wanted us to open a kit of mackerel to see if she'd like it," began Peter literally, "and we persuaded her to take two cans of sardines instead.

Does that interest you ?" "Have you sold any of the blue tartan yet ?" "Ada Brown bought seven yards of it." "Oh, Peter! And trimmings ?" "Six yards of black velvet ribbon--yes, I forgot--Mrs.Blackman is to make it up for her.