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But you see, arter I left your studero I sets on that pore gal's bed a-cryin' fit to bust; then I goes out into Clement's Alley, and I calls on Mrs. An' there's nothink like the parishes for buryin' folk quick, an' I dessay the coffin's ordered by this time, an' I dessay the gent gev you that money just to make you comforble like, seein' as he killed your darter." That's what Mrs. Mix says to me.
Bring my best lookin'-glass out o' my bowdore, an' let me look at my ole chops, for I'm blowed if there ain't a copper in plain clothes this time as is fell 'ead over ears in love with me, jist as the young swell did at the studero. 'Go on, Mrs. Gudgeon, I said; 'go on. She ate the food? 'Oh, didn't she jist!
They brought 'im 'um an' laid 'im afore her werry eyes, an' the sight throw'd 'er into high-strikes, an' arter that the name of "father" allus throwed her into high-strikes, an' that's why I told 'em at the studero never to say that word. An' I know you must 'a' said it, some o' your cussed lot must, or else why should my pore darter 'a' 'ad the high-strikes?
How came she to be called Winifred? 'Well, I'm sure! Mayn't a Welshman's wife give her own on'y Welsh darter a Welsh name? Us poor folks is come to somethink! P'raps you'll say I ain't a Welshman's wife next? It's your own cussed lot as killed her, ain't it? What did I tell the shiny Quaker when fust I tookt her to the studero?
Well, sir, to cut a long story short, I agrees to take my pootty darter to the Quaker gent's studero; an' I takes 'er nex' day, an' 'e puts her in a pictur. And sure enough when I goes back to the studero the werry nex' time, my young swell 'e sez to me, "It's your own pootty face as I wants for my moral. I dessay your darter's a stunner I ain't seen her yit but she cain't be nothin' to you."
That was 'er name, an' she 'ad a shock, pore dear, an' it was all along of you at the studero a-talkin' about 'er father. You must a-talked about 'er father: so no lies. She 'ad fits arter that, in course she 'ad. Why, you'll make me die a-larfin' with your poll-parritin' ways, sayin' "a shock, a shock, a shock," arter me. In course she 'ad a shock; she 'ad it when she was a little gal o' six.
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