"We didn't mean any harm," said Peter.
"It ain't what you means so much as what you does," said Perks.
"Oh, don't!" cried Bobbie, trying hard to be braver than Phyllis, and to find more words than Peter had done for explaining in. "We thought you'd love it. We always have things on our birthdays."
"Oh, yes," said Perks, "your own relations; that's different."
"Oh, no," Bobbie answered. "Not our own relations. All the servants always gave us things at home, and us to them when it was their birthdays. And when it was mine, and Mother gave me the brooch like a buttercup, Mrs. Viney gave me two lovely glass pots, and nobody thought she was coming the charity lay over us."
"If it had been glass pots here," said Perks, "I wouldn't ha' said so much. It's there being all this heap, and heaps of things I can't stand. No—nor won't neither."
"But they're not all from us—" said Peter, "only we forgot to put the labels on. They're from all sorts of people in the village."
"Who put 'em up to it, I'd like to know?" asked Perks.
