During the last part of her speech Mrs Greenways had been poking and squeezing her parcel of sugar into its appointed corner of her basket; as she finished she settled it on her arm, clutched at her gown with the other hand, and prepared to start.
“And now, as I’m in a hurry, I’ll say good night, Mrs Pinhorn and Mrs Wishing, and good night to you, Mr Dimbleby.”
She rolled herself and her burden through the narrow door of the shop, and for a moment no one spoke, while all the little clocks ticked away more busily than ever.
“She’s got enough to carry,” said Mrs Pinhorn, breaking silence at last, with a sideway nod at her neighbour.
“She have so,” agreed Mrs Wishing mildly; “and I wonder, that I do, to see her carrying that heavy basket on foot—she as used to come in her spring cart.”
Mrs Pinhorn pressed her lips together before answering, then she said with meaning: “They’re short of hands just now at Orchards Farm, and maybe short of horses too.”
“You don’t say so!” said Mrs Wishing, drawing nearer.
“My Ben works there, as you know, and he says money’s scarce there, very scarce indeed. One of the men got turned off only t’other day.”
“Lor’, now, to think of that!” exclaimed Mrs Wishing in an awed manner. “An’ her in that bonnet an’ all them artificials!”
“There’s a deal,” continued Mrs Pinhorn, “in what Mrs White says about them two Greenways gals with their fine-lady ways. It ’ud a been better to bring ’em up handy in the house so as to help their mother. As it is, they’re too finnicking to be a bit of use. You wouldn’t see either of them with a basket on their arm, they’d think it lowering themselves. And I dare say the youngest ’ll grow up just like ’em.”