"Internal," Tilda assured her in a voice as hollow as she could make it.
"I must have spit up a quart of blood, first an' last. An' the medicine
I 'ad to take! You wouldn' think it, but the colour was pale
'eliotrope."

"I wonder," said Mrs. Damper sympathetically--"I wonder it stayed in
the stomach."

"It didn'."

"Wouldn' you fancy a glass o' milk, now?"

"It's very kind of you." Tilda put on her best manners. "And 'ere's
'ealth!" she added before sipping, when the milk was handed to her.

"And the dog--wouldn' '_e_ like something?"

"Well, since you mention it--but it's givin' you a 'eap of trouble. If
you 'ave such a thing as a bun, it don't matter 'ow stale."

"I can do better 'n that." Mrs. Damper dived into the inner room, and
re-emerged with a plateful of scraps. "There's always waste with
children," she explained, "and I got five. You can't think the load off
one's shoulders when they're packed to school at nine o'clock.
And that, I dessay," she wound up lucidly, "is what softened me t'ards
you. Do you go to school, now?"

"Never did," answered Tilda, taking the plate and laying it before
Godolphus, who fell-to voraciously.