'E's bin a good father to me.

W'en Lil an' me was kids, 'e used ter take us out every Saturday afternoon, and buy us lollies," and the tears flowed again.
Chook wisely decided to say nothing about the banknotes till her nerves were steadier.
"'Ere, cum an' try on yer new 'at," he cried, to divert her thoughts.
"Me ?" cried Pinkey, blazing.

"Do yer think I'd put anythin' on my 'ead belongin' to 'er ?" "All right," said Chook, with regret, "I'll give it to mother fer one of the kids." "Yer can burn it, if yer like," cried Pinkey.
Chook held up the hat, and examined it with interest.

It was quite unlike any he had seen before.
"See 'ow it look on yer," he coaxed.
"Not me," said Pinkey, glaring at the hat as if it were Mrs Partridge.
But Chook had made up his mind, and after a short scuffle, he dragged Pinkey before the glass with the hat on her head.
"That's back ter front, yer silly," she said, suddenly quiet.
A minute later she was staring into the glass, silent and absorbed, forgetful of Mrs Partridge, Chook, and her father.

The hat was a dream.