“ I’m not going any more,” he declared.
“ Oh, very well, tell your father so.”
He chewed his bun as if he hated it.
“ I’m not—I’m not going to fetch the money.”
“ Then one of Carlin’s children can go; they’d be glad enough of the sixpence,” said Mrs. Morel.
This sixpence was Paul’s only income. It mostly went in buying birthday presents; but it was an income, and he treasured it. But—
“ They can have it, then!” he said. “I don’t want it.”
“ Oh, very well,” said his mother. “But you needn’t bully me about it.”
“ They’re hateful, and common, and hateful, they are, and I’m not going any more. Mr. Braithwaite drops his ‘h’s’, an’ Mr. Winterbottom says ‘You was’.”
“ And is that why you won’t go any more?” smiled Mrs. Morel.
The boy was silent for some ti
