wn, neighbour," said Alice. "It's not the prettiest,
maybe, but it 'll look the best when it's been used a while. That grey
'll never stand nought; and the green, though it's better, 'll not wear
even to the brown. You have the brown now."

Still Margaret was undecided. She appealed to Mrs Clere.

"Why, look you," responded that talkative lady, "if you have yonder
green gown, you can don it of an even when your master comes home from
work, and he'll be main pleased to see you a-sitting in the cottage door
with your bit o' needlework, in a pretty green gown."

"Ay, so he will!" said Margaret, suddenly making up as much mind as she
had. "I thank you Mistress Clere. I'll have the green, Master Clere,
an' it please you."

Now, Alice Mount had offered a reason for choosing the brown dress, and
Mrs Clere had only drawn a picture; but Margaret was the sort of woman
to be influenced by a picture much more than by a solid reason. So the
green linsey was cut off and rolled up--not in paper: that was much too
precious to be wasted on parcels of common things. It was only tied
with string, and each woman taking her own package, the two friends were
about to leave the shop, when it occurred to Mrs Mount to ask a
question.

"So you've got Bessy Foulkes at last, Mistress Clere?"

"Ay, we have, Alice," was the answer. "And you might have said, `at
long last,' trow. Never saw a maid so hard to come by. I could have
got twenty as good maids as she to hire themselves, while Bess was
thinking on it."

"She should be worth somewhat, now you have her, if she took such work
to come by," observed Margaret Thurston.

"Oh, well, she'll do middling. She's a stirring maid over her work: but
she's mortal quiet, she is. Not a word can you get out of her without
'tis needed. And for a young maid of nineteen, you know, that's strange
fashions."

"Humph!" said Master Nicholas, rolling up some woollen handkerchiefs.
"The world 'd do with another or twain of that fashion."

"Now, Nicholas, you can't say you get too much talk!" exclaimed his wife
turning round. "Why Amy and me, we're as quiet as a couple of mice from
morning till night. Aren't we now?"

"Can't I?" said Nicholas, depositing the handkerchiefs on a shelf.

"Well, any way, you've got no call to it. Nobody can say I talk too
much, that I know: nor yet Amy."

"You know, do you?" said her husband coolly. "Well, then, I need not to
say it."

"Now, neighbours, i