She was better pleased with the parlour suite of painted wood cushioned with brightly coloured cretonne--couch, armchair and three small chairs; the lot must have cost at least three pound ten, thought Mrs. Cross, for she had seen the like in the upholsterer’s window at Branston. Her respect for the newcomer immediately increased, and this morning as she squinted down at her from her attic, vainly endeavouring to see all round her at once, she was much impressed by her appearance. Mrs. Chaffey was a spare woman of middle height, wearing a decent brown stuff gown and grey fringed shawl. Her black bonnet with its yellow flowers was quite “fayshionable” in shape, and though her black kid gloves were unbuttoned and had moreover grown somewhat grey about the finger-tips, they nevertheless conveyed the idea of exceeding respectability. “Quite a genteel sort o’ body,” commented Mrs. Cross, “and do seem to know what she be about too,” she added a moment later, as Mrs. Chaffey, having entered the house presently emerged again, having changed her headgear for a gathered print sun-bonnet, and protected her dress by the addition of a large white apron. Mrs. Cross screwed her head in the other angle of the window and again squinted down. “That’s a feather bed,” she observed as a large tied-up bundle was placed in the expectant arms of the newcomer who clearly staggered beneath its weight; “carrier did ought to carry it for she. Pillows next! And a basket--chaney most like. Fender--fire-irons--kettle--pots and a pan or two--very small ’uns they be. ’Tis but a lone ’ooman they d’ say, she’ll not want so much cookin’--clock--hassock----” The carrier’s voice now interrupted the inventory: “This ’ere basket, mum--that do make the lot. I hope ye’ll find all reg’lar, mum, and no damage done.” Mrs. Cross, who had been breathing hard in her excitement, was at this point constrained to polish the window with her apron; by the time the operation was concluded and her nose again applied, Mrs. Chaffey had taken out her purse and was slowly counting out a certain number of coins into the carrier’s hand. Mrs. Cross could not for the life of her see how many, but she observed that the man’s face lengthened. “Bain’t there nothin’ for luck?” he inquired. “I did take a deal o’ trouble wi’ they arnaments and sich-like.” “You’ve a-had what I did agree for,” responded Mrs. Chaffey with dignity; her voice was high and clear, and as she spoke she turned towards the cottage with a final air. “I d’ ’low she’s a bit near,” remarked Mrs. Cross as she retired from the window, rubbing her nose pensively. “Poor Martha Frizzel! She was a good soul, she _was_! Just about!”