“When a twister, a twisting, will twist him a twist,
With the twisting his twist, he the twine doth entwist;
But if one of the twines of the twist doth untwist,
The twine that untwisteth, untwisteth the twist,
Untwisting the twine that entwineth between,
He twists with his twister the two in a twine. 
Then, twice having twisted the twines of his twine,
He twisteth the twine he had twined in twine. 
The twain, that in twining before in the twine,
As twines were entwisted, he now doth untwine,
’Twixt the twain intertwisting a twine more between.”

Nancy gave her remarkable performance in a clear, thin treble.  It was a monotonous melody, but suited the words very well.  She sang slowly and her face and voice exhibited neither light nor shade.  Yet her method suited the words in their exceedingly unemotional appeal.

“It’s the most curious song I ever heard,” cried Estelle, “and you sing it perfectly, because I heard every word.”

Then she brought out pencil and paper, sat in the deep alcove of the window and transcribed Nancy’s verse.

“You must sing that to my father next time you come up,” she said.  “It’s like no other song in the world, I’m sure.”

Sally Groves came in.  She had brought Estelle the seed of a flower from her garden.

“I put it by for you, Miss Waldron,” said the big woman, “because you said you liked it in the fall.”

They talked together while Mercy Gale doffed her overall and woollen bonnet.

“Tell me,” said Estelle, “of a very good sort of wedding present for Mr. Ironsyde, when he marries Sabina next week.”

“A new temper, I should think,” suggested Nancy.

“He can’t help being rather in a temper,” explained Estelle, “because they can’t find a house.”

“Sabina can find plenty,” answered the spinner.  “It’s him that’s so hard to please.”

Sally Groves strove to curb Nancy’s tongue.

“You mind your own business,” she said.  “Mr. Ironsyde wants everything just so, and why not?”

“Because it ain’t a time to be messing about, I should think,” retorted Nancy.  “And it’s for the woman to be considered, not him.”

Then Estelle, in all innocence, asked a shattering question.

“Is it true Sabina is going to have a baby?  One or two girls in the mill told me she was, but I asked my father, and he seemed to be annoyed and said, of course not.  But I hope it’s true—­it would be lovely for Sabina to have a baby to play with.”

“So it would then,” declared Sally Groves, “but I shouldn’t tell nothing about it for the present, miss.”

“Least said, soonest mended,” said Mercy Gale.

“It’s like this,” explained Sally Groves with clumsy goodness:  “they’ll want to keep it for a surprise, miss, and I dare say they’d be terrible disappointed if they thought anybody knew anything about it yet.”