“How does it go?” she asked.
“Why, it’s for pulpin’ turnips,” he replied.
She looked at him. His voice disturbed her.
“Don’t be silly. It’s a little mangle,” she said. “How do you stand it, though?”
“You screw it on th’ side o’ your wash-tub.” He came and held it out to her.
“Oh, yes!” she cried, with one of her little skipping movements, which still came when she was suddenly glad.
And without another thought she ran off into the house, leaving him to untackle the horse. And when he came into the scullery, he found her there, with the little wringer fixed on the dolly-tub, turning blissfully at the handle, and Tilly beside her, exclaiming:
“My word, that’s a natty little thing! That’ll save you luggin’ your inside out. That’s the latest contraption, that is.”
And Anna turned away at the handle, with great gusto of possession. Then she let Tilly have a turn.
“It fair runs by itself,” said Tilly, turning on and on. “Your clothes’ll nip out on to th’ line.”