Mrs. Gale suddenly paused in her tirade and began to poke the fire with fury.

“It’s enoof t’ sicken t’ cat!”

She snatched the kettle that stood upon the hob; she stamped out to the scullery and re-filled it at the tap.  She returned, stamping, and set it with violence upon the fire.

She tore out of the cupboard a teapot, a cup and a saucer, a loaf on a plate and a jar of dripping.  Still with violence (slightly modulated to spare the comparative fragility of the objects she was handling) she dashed them one by one upon the table where Essy, with elbows planted, propped her head upon her hands and wept.

Mrs. Gale sat down herself in the chair facing her, and kept one eye on the kettle and the other on her daughter.  From time to time mutterings came from her, breaking the sad rhythm of Essy’s sobs.

“Eh dear!  I’d like t’ knaw what I’ve doon t’ ave this trooble!”—­

—­“‘Tis enoof t’ raaise yore pore feyther clane out of ’is graave!”—­

—­“’E’d sooner ’ave seed yo in yore coffin, Assy.”—­

She rose and took down the tea-caddy from the chimney-piece and flung a reckless measure into the tea-pot.

“Ef ’e’d ‘a been a-livin’, ’E’d a killed yo.  Thot’s what ’e’d ’a doon.”

As she said it she grasped the kettle and poured the boiling water into the tea-pot.

She set the tea-pot before Essy.

“There’s a coop of tae.  An’ there’s bread an’ drippin’.  Yo’ll drink it oop.”

But Essy, desolated, shook her head.

“Wall,” said Mrs. Gale.  “I doan’ want ter look at yo.  ’T mak’s mae seek.”

As if utterly revolted by the sight of her daughter, she turned from her and left the kitchen by the staircase door.

Her ponderous stamping could be heard going up the staircase and on the floor overhead.  There was a sound as of drawers opening and shutting and of a heavy box being dragged from under the bed.

Essy poured herself out a cup of tea, tried to drink it, choked and pushed it from her.

She was still weeping when her mother came to her.

Mrs. Gale came softly.

All alone in the room overhead she had evidently been doing something that had pleased her.  The ghost of a smile still haunted her bleak face.  She carried on her arm tenderly a pile of little garments.

These she began to spread out on the table before Essy, having first removed the tea-things.

“There!” she said. “‘Tis the lil cleathes fer t’ baaby.  Look, Assy, my deear—­there’s t’ lil rawb, wi’ t’ lil slaves, so pretty—­an’ t’ flanny petticut—­an’ t’ lil vasst—­see.  ‘Tis t’ lil things I maade fer ’ee afore tha was born.”

But Essy pushed them from her.  She was weeping violently now.

“Taake ’em away!” she cried.  “I doan’ want t’ look at ’em.”

Mrs. Gale sat and stared at her.

“Coom,” she said, “tha moos’n’ taake it saw ’ard, like.”