Dorry. O, let me open the door—let me open it!
[She runs across the room and lifts the latch. George stands in the doorway shaking the snow from him. Then he comes into the room.
Dorry. I’m going to the dance, Mr. Davis. Look, haven’t I got a nice frock on?
Steve. Good evening, George, and how be you to-night?
George. Nicely, Steve, nicely. Good evening, Mrs. Browning. Miss Sims, good evening—Yes, Steve, I’ll off with my coat, for ’tis pretty well sprinkled with snow, like.
[Steve helps George to take off his overcoat.
Rose. A happy New Year to you, Mr. Davis.
Jane. And that’s a thing which han’t no luck to it, if ’tis said afore the proper time, Rosie.
Rose. Well, but ’tis New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?
George. Ah, so ’tis—and a terrible nasty storm as ever I knowed! ’Twas comed up very nigh to my knees, the snow, as I was a-crossing of the meadow. And there lay some poor thing sheltering below the hedge, with a bit of sacking throwed over her. I count ’tis very near buried alive as anyone would be as slept out in such a night.