"Yes," Mrs. Dew said; "but you must remember that you belong to the kitchen part and there must be no trespassin’. It would never do for you to be playin’ with the young gentlemen like you was one of theirselves. You must understand that from the very first. Not but what they’re very kind young gentlemen, and have ast after you over and over again, an’ Mr. Wycherly likewise. Master Edmund, he wants to come and see you before he goes back to school." "Oh, Aunt Martha, do let him. I should love it so. I promise I won’t go up, I’ll stay normal, I truly will." "That I don’t believe for one minute, Jane-Anne; why, if I was to take your temperature now—only I’m not going to—I know it’d be over a hundred, with you so pink and all. No, I don’t hold with Master Edmund coming to see you here. I’ve never been really wrop up in this place—too many threads and snippets about for my fancy an’ a smell like a draper’s shop all day long. I’ve no wish as Master Edmund should see you here—. Now don’t you go cryin’ out before you’re hurt. Wait till I can tell you——" "Oh, aunt, what—do be quick." "The doctor says that seein’ the weather’s so good, you can be moved any time now provided you go straight to bed when you get there——" "And you’re going to move me—oh, Aunt Martha, how lovelly—to-day?" "No, not to-day, but to-morrow, nurse’ll bring you in a fly. And you must promise to keep calm and not go bouncin’ and exclaimin’ and runnin’ up to a hundred over nothing at all." "Aunt Martha, I’ll behave like a stucky-image," Jane-Anne protested. "You’re more like a Jack-in-the-box than any image I’ve ever come across, but I do think it’ll be better for me to have you where I can see to your food my own self. I don’t seem to have no faith in that nurse’s beef-tea nor ’er arraroot—lumpy stuff what I saw. An’ if you’re to be got strong enough to go back to the Bainbridge in the next three weeks (I don’t know how they ’ll take this fresh worriment) you must be fed up. So now you know. You’re to get up for your tea and go back to bed directly after, and you’re to keep quiet and not get into a fantique nor go makin’ a palladum all about nothin’. Do you hear me, Jane-Anne?" "Yes, Aunt Martha, but I think fantiques and palladums must be lovelly things; they sound so, and I long to make them, only I don’t know how." "It strikes me it’s little else you’ll ever make. Now lie down in bed for I must run. Most considerate the master’s been, letting me come off at all times to see you, and I hope you’ll remember it and try and make yourself useful when you get about again. Good-bye, child, and we shan’t be separated much longer for which I thank the Lord as made us both."