She then walked into her little bedroom, and shut the door behind her. In three minutes she was dressed to go out, not in the neat drawn black-silk bonnet, but in an old straw one which had belonged to her mother, and which was extremely obsolete in pattern. This bonnet had once been white, but it was now of the deepest, most dingy shade of yellow-brown. It had a little band of brown ribbon round it, which ended neatly in a pair of strings; these were tied under Grannie's chin. Instead of her black cashmere shawl she wore one of very rough material and texture, and of a sort of zebra pattern, which she had picked up cheap many and many years ago from a traveling peddler. She wore no gloves on her hands, but the poor, swollen, painful right hand was wrapped in a corner of the zebra shawl. On her left arm she carried her market basket. "Good-by, child," she said, nodding to her granddaughter. Then she trotted downstairs and out into the street. There was no fog to-day--the air was keen and bright, and there was even a very faint attempt at some watery sunbeams. There wasn't a better bargainer in all Shoreditch than Mrs. Reed, but to-day her purchases were very small--a couple of Spanish onions, half a pound of American cheese, some bread, a tiny portion of margarine--and she had expended what money she thought proper. She was soon at home again, and dinner was arranged. "I may as well get the dinner," said Alison, rising and taking the basket from the old woman. "My dear, there aint nothing to get; it's all ready. The children must have bread for dinner to-day. I bought a stale quartern loaf--I got a penny off it, being two days old; here's a nice piece of cheese; and onions cut up small will make a fine relish. There, we'll put the basket in the scullery; and now, Alison, come over to the light and take a lesson in the feather-stitching." Alison followed Mrs. Reed without a word. They both took their places near the window. "Thread that needle for me, child," said the old woman. Alison obeyed. Mrs. Reed had splendid sight for her age; nothing had ever ailed her eyes, and she never condescended to wear glasses, old as she was, except by lamplight. Alison therefore felt some surprise when she was invited to thread the needle. She did so in gloomy and solemn silence, and gave it back with a suppressed sigh to her grandmother. "I don't think there's much use, Grannie," she said. "Much use in wot?" said Mrs. Reed. "In my learning that feather-stitching--I haven't it in me. I hate needlework." "Oh, Ally!" Grannie raised her two earnest eyes.