starching of it, and the finger-iron for its exquisite frills that
looked like curls of sugar, and the sweet bands with which it tied
beneath the chin! The honoured snowy mutch, how I love to see it
smiling to me from the doors and windows of the poor; it is always
smiling - sometimes maybe a wavering wistful smile, as if a tear-
drop lay hidden among, the frills. A hundred times I have taken
the characterless cap from my mother's head and put the mutch in
its place and tied the bands beneath her chin, while she protested
but was well pleased. For in her heart she knew what suited her
best and would admit it, beaming, when I put a mirror into her
hands and told her to look; but nevertheless the cap cost no less
than so-and-so, whereas - Was that a knock at the door? She is
gone, to put on her cap!

She begins the day by the fireside with the New Testament in her
hands, an old volume with its loose pages beautifully refixed, and
its covers sewn and resewn by her, so that you would say it can
never fall to pieces. It is mine now, and to me the black threads
with which she stitched it are as part of the contents. Other
books she read in the ordinary manner, but this one differently,
her lips moving with each word as if she were reading aloud, and
her face very solemn. The Testament lies open on her lap long
after she has ceased to read, and the expression of her face has
not changed.

I have seen her reading other books early in the day but never
without a guilty look on her face, for she thought reading was
scarce respectable until night had come. She spends the forenoon
in what she calls doing nothing, which may consist in stitching so
hard that you would swear she was an over-worked seamstress at it