"Who's there?" she asked; "is that you, Ann?"
"Yes—let me in."
She demanded it as a right, rather than as a favour, but Mattie admitted her without opposition. Ann Packet entered with her cap awry—hanging in fact, by strange filaments, to her back comb—and she placed herself in front of Mattie, with her arms akimbo, quite defiantly.
"Now, what's the matter with you?"
"Have I complained?—is there likely to be anything the matter, Ann?"
"Yes, there is. And you'll just tell me, please, what is it!"
"Ann, you forget yourself."
"No, it's you who is forgetting yourself, and me, and all you had a liking and a love for wunst. It's you as has altered so dreffully, that I can only think of one thing to make you different."
"Don't tell me!—don't tell me!" Mattie entreated.
Ann Packet took no heed.