Vashti. [Suddenly.] Be this house made ready for a-marrying, then?

Dorry.  Why, of course it be, Granny.  Don’t you see how ’tis cleaned and the new net curtains in the windows, and the bit of drugget ’gainst the door where the old one always tripped me up?

Vashti.  I see naught but what ’tis more like a burial here.  So ’tis.  And ’tis a burial as I’ve carried in my heart as I comed down from the hills.

Dorry. [Looking out of the window.] Granny, you’ll be forced to bide the night along of we, ’cause the snow be falling thick, and ’twill be likely as not as you’ll lose your way if you start for to go home again when ’tis snowing.

Jane.  Th’ old thing may as well bide the night now she be come.  Hark you, Vashti, ’twill save you the journey down to-morrow like, if you bides the night, and the chimney corner is all as you ever wants.

Vashti.  And what should I be journeying down to-morrow for, Jane Browning?

Dorry.  Why, Granny, ’tis Dad’s wedding day to-morrow, and ’tis a white frock with lace to it as I’m going to wear, and beads what Miss Sims gived me, and the shoes what was new except for being worn to church three times.  Shall I fetch them all and show to you, Granny?

Jane.  Yes, run along and get them, Dorry; very likely ’twill give her thoughts a turn, looking at the things, seeing as she be in one of her nasty moods to-day when you can’t get a word what isn’t foolishness out of her. [Dorry runs upstairs.

Vashti. [Leaning forward.] Was her telling of a marriage?

Jane.  Why, yes, Vashti Reed.  And you know all about it, only you don’t trouble for to recollect nothing but what you dreams of yourself in the night.  ’Tis our Steve what’s going to marry Annie Sims to-morrow.

Vashti.  Steve Browning?

Jane.  I haven’t patience with th’ old gipsy!  Yes—­Steve.  And ’tis a twelvemonth or more as you’d knowed of it.

Vashti.  Our Steve, what’s husband to my May?

Jane.  ’Tis a fine thing to fetch up May this evening, that ’tis.  May, what went out trolloping along the roads ’stead of she biding at home to mind the house and child!  ’Tis how you did breed she up, Vashti Reed, what led her to act as her did.  And if you’d have bred her different, ’twould have been all the same; for what’s in the blood is bound to out and show; and when you picks a weed and sets it in the room, ’tain’t no flower as you must look for.

Vashti.  ’Tis summat like a twelve year since her went.  But in the blinking of an eye the latch might be raised, and she come through the door again.  God bless the head an feet of she!

Jane.  There you are, Vashti, talking so foolish.  A bad herb like she, was bound for to meet her doom.  And ’twas in the river up London way where the body of her was catched, floating, and the same petticoat to it as I’ve seed on May a score of times.  Don’t you recollect how ’twas parson as brought the news to we?