May.  Look you here—­’tis growing day.  I must be getting off and on to the road.

Dorry. [Moving to the door.] I’ll unbolt the door, then.  O, ’tis fine and daylight now.

May. [Turning back at the doorway and looking at the room.] I suppose you wouldn’t like to touch me, for good luck, Dorry?

Dorry.  No, I shouldn’t.  Gran’ma, she don’t let me go nigh road people as a rule.  She’s a-feared as I should take summat from them, I suppose.

May. [Hoarsely, her hand on the door.] Then just say as you wishes me well, Dorry.

Dorry.  I’ll wish you a good New Year, then, and Gran’ma said as I was to watch as you cleared off the place. [May goes out softly and quickly.  Dorry watches her until she is out of sight, and then she shuts the door.

Act III.—­Scene 1.

The same room.  It is nearly mid-day, and the room is full of sunshine.  Jane Browning, in her best dress, is fastening Dorry’s frock, close to the window.

Dorry.  Dad’s been a rare long time a-cleaning of his self up, Gran.

Jane.  Will you bide still!  However’s this frock to get fastened and you moving this way and that like some live eel—­and just see what a mark you’ve made on the elbow last night, putting your arm down somewhere where you didn’t ought to—­I might just as well have never washed the thing.

Dorry.  Granny’s sound asleep still—­she’ll have to be waked time we goes along to the church.

Jane.  That her shan’t be.  Her shall just bide and sleep the drink out of her, her shall.  Do you think as I didn’t find out who ’twas what had got at the bottle as Dad left on the dresser last night.

Dorry.  Poor Gran, she do take a drop now and then.

Jane.  Shame on th’ old gipsy.  Her shall be left to bide till she have slept off some of the nonsense which is in her.

Dorry.  Granny do say a lot of funny things sometimes, don’t she, now?

Jane.  You get and put on your hat and button your gloves, and let the old gipsy be.  We can send her off home when ’tis afternoon, and us back from church.  Now, where did I lay that bonnet?  Here ’tis.

[She begins to tie the strings before a small mirror in the wall.  Steve comes downstairs in his shirt sleeves, carrying his coat.

Dorry.  Why, Dad, you do look rare pleased at summat.

Steve.  And when’s a man to look pleased if ’tis not on his wedding morn, Dorry?

Dorry.  The tramp what was here did say as how ’twas poor work twice marrying, but you don’t find it be so, Dad, do you now?

Steve.  And that I don’t, my little wench.  ’Tis as nigh heaven as I be like to touch—­and that’s how ’tis with me.

Jane. [Taking Steve’s coat from him.] Ah, ’tis a different set out altogether this time.  That ’tis.  ’Tis a-marrying into your own rank, like, and no mixing up with they trolloping gipsies.