It's my belief half the children that die here are perished with watered milk.

Well, sir, we shan't have that on our souls, father and I; he is a farmer in Essex.

This comes a many miles, this milk." Staines looked in her face, with kindly approval marked on his own eloquent features.

She blushed a little at so fixed a regard.

Then he asked her if she would supply him with milk, butter, and eggs.
"Why, if you mean sell you them, yes, sir, with pleasure.