"What are they all about?"

"Mostly about gran' things an' wunnerful things--kings, an' carridges,
an' angels, an' firewux, an' dreams what she says she's 'ad. An'
she'll sweer they're true. My word, it is wicked of 'er! She's allus
pretennin' to be things what she ain't, too. One Sat'dy arf'noon she
said she was a steam-injun. An' she got 'old of a little boy, BOB
COLLINGS, and said 'e was the tender. An' BOB COLLINGS 'ad to foller
close be'ind 'er all that arf'noon, else she'd a' nigh killed 'im. 'E
got rather tired, because she kept runnin' about, bein' a express an'
'avin' cerlishuns. Lawst of all she wived 'er awms about, and mide a
kind o' whooshin' noise. 'Now,' she said, 'my biler's bust, an' I'm
done for!' So she lay flat on the wet groun', an' the tender went 'ome
to 'is tea."

"What's she like to look at?"

JULIA SANBY confessed, with apparent reluctance, that GAZEY was very
pretty. "She's prettier nor I am, nor any of the other childrun roun'
'ere. She's got golding 'air, an' blue eyes. But I 'ite 'er, 'cos
she's so bad, an' 'cos she mikes the other children bad. I don't never
listen to none of 'er mike-ups now."

"Would she let me make a sketch of her?"

"Dunno. You wouldn't like 'er. She's low in the wye she talks. The new
curick don't like 'er. Nobody don't like 'er."

Now, just in this sentence, I fancied that the sanctimoniousness of
JULIA SANBY had become mixed with some real feeling. I also reflected