"Pick it up for her," she said, turning to Mrs. Briarley, and it was done, and the shrivelled fingers held it and the old eye devoured it.
"He used to wear 'em i' his button-hole," proclaimed the Voice, "an' he wur a han'some chap—seventy year ago."
"Did you send for me to tell me that?" demanded Rachel Ffrench.
Granny Dixon turned on her pile of pillows.
"Nay," she said, "an' I'm—forgettin'."
There was a gasp between the two last words, as if suddenly her strength was failing her.
"Get thee a pen—an'—an' write summat," she ordered.
"Get it quickly," said Rachel Ffrench, "and let me humor her and go."
She noticed the little gap between the words herself, and the next instant saw a faint gray pallor spread itself over the old woman's face.