again,—givin' thee presents, when I hannot a bit o' finery to my name."
"It allus set me off—red did," cried Mrs. Dixon. "It wur my fav'rite color when I wur a lass,—an' I wur a good-lookin' lass, too, seventy year ago."
"I'm sure you was, ma'am," responded Mrs. Haworth. "I've no doubt on it."
"She canna hear thee," said Mrs. Briarley. "She's as deaf as a post—th' ill-tempert owd besom," and proceeded to give a free translation at the top of her lungs.
"She says tha mun ha' been han'some. She says onybody could see that to look at thee."
"Aye," sharply. "She's reet, too. I wur, seventy year ago. Who is she?"
"She's Mester Haworth's mother."
"Mester Haworth's mother?" promptly. "Did na tha tell me he wur a rich mon?"
"Aye, I did."
"Well, then, what does she dress i' that road fur? She's noan quality. She does na look much better nor thee."
"Eh! bless us!" protested Mrs. Briarley. "What's a body to do wi' her?"
"Don't mind her, ma'am," said Mrs. Haworth. "It don't do no harm. A old person's often sing'lar. It don't trouble me."
Then Janey, issuing from her retirement in comparatively full dress, was presented with due ceremony.
"It wur her as fun thy place i' th' hymn-book," said Mrs. Briarley. "She's a good bit o' help to me, is Jane Ann."
It seemed an easy thing afterward to pour forth her troubles, and she found herself so far encouraged by her
