Then at last he stopped. "I hadn't really any hope," he said.

The hateful telling broke out again.

"Slightly is coughing on the table."

"The twins began with cheese-cakes."

"Curly is taking both butter and honey."

"Nibs is speaking with his mouth full."

"I complain of the twins."

"I complain of Curly."

"I complain of Nibs."

"Oh dear, oh dear," cried Wendy, "I'm sure I sometimes think
that spinsters are to be envied."

She told them to clear away, and sat down to her work-basket,
a heavy load of stockings and every knee with a hole in it as
usual.

"Wendy," remonstrated [scolded] Michael, "I'm too big for a
cradle."

"I must have somebody in a cradle," she said almost tartly,
"and you are the littlest. A cradle is such a nice homely thing
to have about a house."

While she sewed they played around her; such a group of happy
faces and dancing limbs lit up by that romantic fire. It had
become a very familiar scene, this, in the home under the
ground, but we are looking on it for the last time.