Jane. [Getting the lamp from a shelf.] I don’t light up as a rule till ’tis six o’clock, but I count it’s a bit of snow coming as have darkened the air like.
Dorry. Gran’ma, isn’t Miss Sims nice-looking, don’t you think? I’d like to wear my hair like hers and have earrings a-hanging from me and a-shaking when I moves my head, I would.
Jane. [Setting the lamp on the table.] Here, fetch me the matches, do.
Dorry. [Bringing the matches.] Was my mammy nice-looking, like Miss Sims, Gran’ma?
Jane. I’m one as goes by other things nor looks—For like as not ’tis fine looks as is the undoing of most girls as has them—give me a plain face and a heart what’s pure, I says, and ’tis not far out as you’ll be.
Dorry. Was my mammy’s heart pure, Gran’ma? [A moment’s silence. Jane lights the lamp. Dorry leans at the table, watching her.
Dorry. Was my mammy’s—[A loud knock on the outside door.
Jane. Who’s that come bothering round! Run and see, Dorry, there’s a good child.
Dorry. It’ll be Gran’ma Vashti, I daresay. She do mostly knock at the door loud with her stick.
[Dorry runs to the window and looks out.