“We can’t have any more of our own,” said the latter, “we have to make the best of other people’s.”

Anne took a tissue-paper parcel from the shelf, and opening it, showed a blue cashmere smock with a ribbon.

“I was so pleased,” she said.  “Mrs Phillipson’s eldest girl that’s to be married next month brought it in yesterday.  It shows how you misjudge people.  When I went to see them, they seemed so hard upon poor Jane.  But she brought that pretty frock she’d made herself for the baby.  She’s a good-looking girl, and she’ll make a good wife.”

“You think on these things at such a time,” said Mrs Hankworth.  “All kinds o’ little things you never thought of before come into your mind when you’re going to be married.  But it was nice of her.  I shall think better of that girl after this.”

“That sounds like Mary,” said Anne, looking round the open door.  “Yes it is.  Come in, Mary.  You’ll find some friends here.”

Mrs Hankworth laughed uproariously.  “The baby’s holding a reception,” she said, her huge form shaking.

“It’s Mrs Hankworth, I know,” said Mary.

“And Mrs Crowther,” interposed the latter herself; “we’re making sillies of ourselves over the baby.  Here, sit down and take him, Mary.”

She set Mary in the chair which she had vacated, and laid the baby on her knees carefully placing the blind woman’s hands over the little body.

“There’s not much of him,” said Mary.  “What does he like?  This?” And with her hands spread upon the child, she moved her knees backwards and forwards, clicking her heels on the floor.

“I could soon do it,” she said, with a satisfied chuckle.

“I’m sure you could,” said Anne.

“It was Peter Molesworth that told me you was here,” said Mary, “so I thought I’d come too.”

“Whatever do you think that Peter Molesworth came out with in the class the other day?” said Mrs Hankworth.  “We was having as nice a meeting as you could wish, and then Peter gets up to give his experience.  He says, ’I thank the Lord I’ve got peace in my home and a praying mother’ (she’s not much o’ that, I thought to myself); and then he went on, ’You know, when I think of the troubles of others in serving Christ, I cannot bear.  There’s a poor woman I know,’ he says, ’that’s trying to serve Christ, and whenever she kneels down to say her prayers, her husband begins to tickle her feet.’  Did you ever hear of anybody coming out with such a thing before?  ’I think this door wants oiling, Mrs Hankworth,’ he says to me as we was going out.  ‘Nay, Peter,’ I says, ‘it’s thee that wants oiling.’  ’Why, Mrs Hankworth, what’s the matter?’ he says.  ’Whatever made you come out with such a thing in the meeting,’ I says.  ‘Why, what was wrong with it?’ he says.  ‘Oh, well!’ I says, ‘if you don’t know yourself, I can’t tell you,’ I says.  He’s a bright one is Peter Molesworth.”

“Are you ready, Mother?” shouted Mr Hankworth, putting his head in the door.  “John Unsworth thinks the sows belongs to Mr Phillipson.  He saw him bringing some home last night.  We can take him on the way home.”