se parts, talking among themselves, gave their
christened names to the Earl's family. The moment an outsider came in,
"The Family" consisted entirely of lordships and ladyships.

But how strange, that such a speech--actually the naming of a mother by
a daughter--should be so slightly spoken, in an ignorance so complete!

Granny Marrable's thought, of the two, dwelt more on "the old person";
whose identity, as Dave's other Granny, had made its impression on her.
Otherwise, for all she had seen of her, it might have passed from her
mind. Also, she was grieved about that mutton-broth. The poor old soul
had just looked worn to death, and all that way to drive! If she had
only just swallowed half a cup, it would have made such a difference. It
added to Granny Marrable's regret, that the mutton-broth had proved so
good. The old soul had passed on unrefreshed even while Strides Cottage
was endorsing that mutton-broth.

The Granny quite fretted over it, not even the beautiful fur tippet
Sister Nora had sent her having power to expel it from her mind. And,
quite late, nigh on to midnight, she woke with a start from a dream she
had had; it set her off talking again about old Mrs. Picture. For it was
one of this old lady's vices that she would sit up late and waste a deal
of good sleep out of bed in that venerable arm-chair of hers.

"There now, Ruth," said she, "I was asleep again and dreaming." For she
never would admit that this practice was an invariable one.

"What about, mother?" said Widow Thrale.

"That breaking of the glass set me a-dreaming over our old mill, and
your mother, child, that died across the seas. We was both there, girls
like, all over again. Only Dave's Mrs. Picture, she come across the
dream, and spoilt it."

It was not necessary for Mrs. Ruth to take her attention off the
pillow-lace she was at work upon. She remarked:--"I thought her a nice
old soul, to look at." This was not quite uncoloured by the vague
indictment against Mrs. Picture about Dave, who had, somehow, qualified
for the receipt of forgiveness. Which implies some offence to condone.

Shadowy as the offence was, Granny Marrable could not ignore it
altogether. "Good looks are skin-deep--so they say! But it's not for me
to be setting up for judge. At her time of life, and she a-looking so
worn out, too!" The memory of the mutton-broth rankled. Forgiveness was
setting in.

"At her time of life, mother? Why, she's none so much older than