She's a angel, John.

The way she sat with them poor childer would do you good to see.

I told 'er you 'ad took them, and, bless you, 'er eyes filled with tears to think of a man doing it when you might let them go to the work'us.

Not that I wouldn't do it, John, if I 'adn't six of my own and the mangle and not room to turn round.
And Mrs Parkes was a-saying the childer would be welcome in 'er room, only the smells is that bad in 'er corner that there's no living in it except for seasoned bodies.

There's my Polly, you know, John, is eight, and she would look after them now and again, when you're busy.