"He's been at it again!" she shouted. "At it again! He'll nivver ha' none o' my brass to mak' way wi'. He's been at——"
Mrs. Briarley turned upon her.
"Keep thy mouth shut" she said.
The command was effective in one sense, though not in another. Mrs. Dixon stopped in the midst of the word "at" with her mouth wide open, and so sat for some seconds, with the aspect of an ancient beldam ordinarily going by machinery and suddenly having had her works stopped.
She would probably have presented this appearance for the remainder of the evening if Mrs. Briarley had not addressed her again.
"Shut thy mouth!" she said.
The works were set temporarily in motion, and her countenance slowly resumed its natural lines. She appeared to settle down all over and sink and become smaller, though, as she crouched nearer the fire, she had rather an evil look, which seemed to take its red glow into her confidence and secretly rage at it.
"What's tha been doin'?" Mrs. Briarley demanded of her better half. "Out wi' it!"
Mr. Briarley had already fallen into his favorite position. He had placed an elbow upon each knee and carefully supported his disheveled head upon his hands. He had also already begun to shed tears, which dropped and made disproportionately large circles upon the pipe-clayed floor.