"I think they'd be fond of me," she said, "them an'--an' her too, whomsoever she might be. She'd be a lady, Jem, but she wouldn't mind my ways, I dare say, an' I'd do my best with all my heart. I'd welcome her, an' give up my place here to her, joyful. It's a place fitter for a lady such as she would be--God bless her!--than for me." And she patted his sleeve and bent her face that she might kiss his hand. CHAPTER XXI. IN WHICH MRS. BRIARLEY'S POSITION IS DELICATE. So the poor and hard-worked of the town came to know her well, and it must also be confessed that others less deserving learned to know her also, and proceeded, with much thrift and dexterity, to make hay while the sun shone. Haworth held to his bargain, even going to the length of lavishness. "Haworth gives it to her?" was said with marked incredulity at the outset. "Nay, lad, tha canna mak' me believe that." Mrs. Haworth's earliest visit was made to the Briarley cottage. She came attired in her simplest gown, the week after her appearance at the Chapel, and her entrance into the household created such an excitement as somewhat disturbed her. The children were scattered with wild hustling and scurry, while Janey dragged off her apron in the temporary seclusion offered by the door. Mrs. Briarley, wiping the soap-suds from her arms, hurried forward with apologetic nervousness. She dropped a courtesy, scarcely knowing what words of welcome would be appropriate for the occasion, and secretly speculating on possible results. But her visitor's demeanor was not overpowering. She dropped a courtesy herself,--a kindly and rustic obeisance. She even looked somewhat timid. "I'm Mr. Haworth's mother, ma'am," she faltered, "an'--an' thank you kindly," taking the seat offered. "Don't put yourself out, ma'am, for me. There wasn't no need to send the children away,--not at all, me bein' partial to 'em, an' also used." The next instant she gave a timid start. "Gi' me my best cap!" cried a stentorian voice. "Gi' me my best cap! Wheer is it? Gi' me my best cap!" Granny Dixon's high basket-backed chair had been placed in the shadow of the chimney-corner for the better enjoyment of her midday nap, and, suddenly aroused by some unknown cause, she had promptly become conscious of the presence of a visitor and the dire need of some addition to her toilet. She sat up, her small-boned figure trembling with wrath, her large eyes shining. "Gi' me my best cap!" she demanded. "Gi' it me!" Mrs. Briarley disappeared into the adjacent room, and came out with the article required in her hand. It was a smart cap, with a lace border and blue bows on it. "Put it on!" shouted Mrs. Dixon. "An' put it on straight!" Mrs. Briarley obeyed nervously. "She's my mester's grandmother," she exclaimed, plaintively. "Yo' munnot moind her, missus." Granny Dixon fixed her eyes upon the stranger.