believe it. Nothing’s genuine in the place, in my opinion, but the dirt.’

‘Don’t you think the fowl may have come out of the country, aunt?’ I hinted.

‘Certainly not,’ returned my aunt. ‘It would be no pleasure to a London tradesman to sell anything which was what he pretended it was.’

I did not venture to controvert this opinion, but I made a good supper, which it greatly satisfied her to see me do.

When the table was cleared, Janet assisted her to arrange her hair, to put on her nightcap, which was of a smarter construction than usual (‘in case of fire’, my aunt said), and to fold her gown back over her knees, these being her usual preparations