'I have kept t' pot in t' oven; it'll have a'most got a' t' goodness
out of t' tea by now, for it'll be an hour since I made it. Poor
lass, thou look'st as if thou needed a good cup o' tea. It were dree
work sitting wi' Betsy Darley, were it? And how does she look on her
affliction?'

'She takes it sore to heart,' said Hester, taking off her hat, and
folding and smoothing away her cloak, before putting them in the
great oak chest (or 'ark,' as it was called), in which they were
laid from Sunday to Sunday.

As she opened the lid a sweet scent of dried lavender and
rose-leaves came out. William stepped hastily forwards to hold up
the heavy lid for her. She lifted up her head, looked at him full
with her serene eyes, and thanked him for his little service. Then
she took a creepie-stool and sate down on the side of the
fire-place, having her back to the window.

The hearth was of the same spotless whiteness as the steps; all that
was black about the grate was polished to the utmost extent; all
that was of brass, like the handle of the oven, was burnished
bright. Her mother placed the little black earthenware teapot, in
which the tea had been stewing, on the table, where cups and saucers
were already set for four, and a large plate of bread and butter
cut. Then they sate round the table, bowed their heads, and kept
silence for a minute or two.

When this grace was ended, and they were about to begin, Alice said,
as if without premeditation, but in reality with a keen shrinking of
heart out of sympathy with her child--