As if utterly revolted by the sight of her daughter, she turned from her and left the kitchen by the staircase door.
Her ponderous stamping could be heard going up the staircase and on the floor overhead. There was a sound as of drawers opening and shutting and of a heavy box being dragged from under the bed.
Essy poured herself out a cup of tea, tried to drink it, choked and pushed it from her.
She was still weeping when her mother came to her.
Mrs. Gale came softly.
All alone in the room overhead she had evidently been doing something that had pleased her. The ghost of a smile still haunted her bleak face. She carried on her arm tenderly a pile of little garments.
These she began to spread out on the table before Essy, having first removed the tea-things.
"There!" she said. "'Tis the lil cleathes fer t' baaby. Look, Assy, my deear—there's t' lil rawb, wi' t' lil slaves, so pretty—an' t' flanny petticut—an' t' lil vasst—see. 'Tis t' lil things I maade fer 'ee afore tha was born."
But Essy pushed them from her. She was weeping violently now.
"Taake 'em away!" she cried. "I doan' want t' look at 'em."