"
She gathered up all the scruts and let them fall in a rattling shower
on the exiguous pudding. Two or three fell wide of the basin. These
she added.
"Steady on!" cried Jos. "What's that for?"
"That's for your guest," replied his sister. "And if you think you're
going to palm me off on to him, or on to any other young fellow,
you're a fool, Jos Wrackgarth."
The young man protested weakly, but she cut him short.
"Don't think," she said, "I don't know what you've been after, just of
late. Cracking up one young sawny and then another on the chance of me
marrying him! I never heard of such goings on. But here I am, and here
I'll stay, as sure as my name's Emily Wrackgarth, Jos Wrackgarth!"
She was the incarnation of the adorably feminine. She was exquisitely
vital. She exuded at every pore the pathos of her young undirected
force. It is difficult to write calmly about her. For her, in another
age, ships would have been launched and cities besieged. But brothers
are a race apart, and blind. It is a fact that Jos would have been
glad to see his sister "settled"--preferably in one of the other four
Towns.
She took up the spoon and stirred vigorously. The scruts grated and
squeaked together around the basin, while the pudding feebly wormed
its way up among them.
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