‘Four more weeks and I’ll be fourteen! No more rotten school. When I leave, I shall never pick up a pen again, not in my whole life.’ ‘That shows just what a dunce you are, then,’ Ellen told him. ‘It’s not fair. I wish I could leave now. I’ve got to wait another whole year,’ Daisy complained. ‘I hate Miss Peebles. She’s always on at me, she blames me for everything. It’s not my fault that other people keep talking to me, but I always get the blame.’ ‘Miss Peebles is all right if she thinks you try. She knows you don’t,’ Ellen said. ‘Oh well, it was all right for you. You were teacher’s pet.’ ‘Stop it, the lot of you. Your father’ll be in in a minute,’ Martha ordered. ‘Ellen, get this table clear. Daisy, fetch the plates and spoons, and Jack, move that washing over.’ It was Monday, washing day, but the May weather had failed to oblige. Outside, it was raining, and half-dried sheets and shirts and blouses hung on strings across the ceiling and over the fender by the range.
