[Illustration]

"You ain't got no tex' 'ung up," she remarked, disparagingly. "We 'as
two tex' in our kitching. I 'ung 'em up myself. An' father beat me for
it. But I didn't keer, 'cos I knew I wos doin' good."

She pressed her thin lips together, and looked like a mangled martyr.

"Do you go to Sunday School?" I asked, as I got to work.

"I goes reggler, an' I'm first in the School, and I knows more colics
than any of 'em, excep' teachers. I ain't like GAZEY."

"Who's GAZEY?"

"She's a girl what I 'ites. She's a bad girl. We calls 'er GAZEY, 'cos
it's short for GEHAZI; but that ain't 'er real nime. She's a liar.
She's allus tellin' lies--seems as if she couldn't storp doin' it."
JULIA SANBY sighed sadly.

"What kind of lies?"

"She don't tell no lies to get 'erself out of nothin'; 'cos she's so
bad that she don't keer whort rows she gets inter. But she tells other
sorts. She just sits up on the fence what goes roun' the green, an'
mikes up things, an' a lot of the children ain't got no more sense
than to sit roun' an' listen to 'er. That just mikes 'er worse. She
sits theer, a-tellin' stories, an' sweerin' they're all true. You
never 'eard such stories."