'You are a grateful piece, I must say!' remarked her step-mother, as she administered some catnip tea to the whining Polly. 'I haven't seen the colour of a ten-dollar bill in as many years, and you put it in your pocket as cool as a cucumber, and go about looking as glum as a herring. Who's going to do the clothes, I'd like to know? I can't lay this child out of my arms for a minute. I believe she's sickening for a fever, and then perhaps your fine relations won't be so anxious to see you coming. For my part, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to knuckle to people who waited seventeen years to find whether I was in the land of the living before they said, "How d'ye do." But then I always was proud-spirited. I despise meachin' folks.'