“Well, we must hurry up,” says the first; “I shan’t be more than a minute myself, I’ve merely got to change my skirt.”
Half-an-hour later you hear them calling to each other, from different parts of the house, to know if the other one is ready. It appears they have both been ready for quite a long while, waiting only for the other one.
“I’m afraid,” calls out the one whose turn it is to be down-stairs, “it’s going to rain.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” calls back the other one.
“Well, it looks very like it.”
“What a nuisance,” answers the up-stairs woman; “shall we put it off?”
“Well, what do you think, dear?” replies the down-stairs.
They decide they will go, only now they will have to change their boots, and put on different hats.
For the next ten minutes they are still shouting and running about. Then it seems as if they really were ready, nothing remaining but for them to say “Good-bye,” and go.
They begin by kissing the children. A woman never leaves her house without secret misgivings that she will never return to it alive. One child cannot be found. When it is found it wishes it hadn’t been. It has to be washed, preparatory to being kissed. After that, the dog has to be found and kissed, and final instructions given to the cook.