on. Her new sensations seemed to exclude the remembrance of her grief. At last, after tasting the porridge, she broke silence:
"Ye might ha' made the parridge worse," she said to Dinah, "I can ate it wi'out it's turnin' my stomach. It might ha' been a trifle thicker an' no harm, an' I allays putten a sprig o' mint in mysen; but how's ye t' know that? Th' lads arena like to get folks as 'ull make their parridge as I'n made it for 'em; it's well if they get onybody as 'll make parridge at all. But ye might do, wi' a bit o' showin'; for ye're a stirrin' body in a mornin', an' ye've a light heel, an ye've cleaned the house well enoof for a ma'-shift."
"Makeshift, mother?" said Adam. "Why, I think the house looks beautiful. I don't know how it could look better."
"Thee dostna know. Nay: how's thee to know? Th' men ne'er know whether the floor's cleaned or cat-licked. But thee't know when thee gets thy parridge burnt, as thee't like to ha' it when I'n gi'en o'er makin' it. Thee't think thy mother war good for summat then."
"Dinah," said Seth, "do come and sit down now and have your breakfast. We're all served now."
