MAY. [_Turning back at the doorway and looking at the room_.] I suppose you wouldn’t like to touch me, for good luck, Dorry? DORRY. No, I shouldn’t. Gran’ma, she don’t let me go nigh road people as a rule. She’s a-feared as I should take summat from them, I suppose. MAY. [_Hoarsely_, _her hand on the door_.] Then just say as you wishes me well, Dorry. DORRY. I’ll wish you a good New Year, then, and Gran’ma said as I was to watch as you cleared off the place. [MAY _goes out softly and quickly_. DORRY _watches her until she is out of sight_, _and then she shuts the door_. ACT III.—Scene 1. _The same room_. _It is nearly mid-day_, _and the room is full of sunshine_. JANE BROWNING, _in her best dress_, _is fastening_ DORRY’S _frock_, _close to the window_. DORRY. Dad’s been a rare long time a-cleaning of his self up, Gran. JANE. Will you bide still! However’s this frock to get fastened and you moving this way and that like some live eel—and just see what a mark you’ve made on the elbow last night, putting your arm down somewhere where you didn’t ought to—I might just as well have never washed the thing. DORRY. Granny’s sound asleep still—she’ll have to be waked time we goes along to the church. JANE. That her shan’t be. Her shall just bide and sleep the drink out of her, her shall. Do you think as I didn’t find out who ’twas what had got at the bottle as Dad left on the dresser last night. DORRY. Poor Gran, she do take a drop now and then. JANE. Shame on th’ old gipsy. Her shall be left to bide till she have slept off some of the nonsense which is in her. DORRY. Granny do say a lot of funny things sometimes, don’t she, now? JANE. You get and put on your hat and button your gloves, and let the old gipsy be. We can send her off home when ’tis afternoon, and us back from church. Now, where did I lay that bonnet? Here ’tis. [_She begins to tie the strings before a small mirror in the wall_. STEVE _comes downstairs in his shirt sleeves_, _carrying his coat_. DORRY. Why, Dad, you do look rare pleased at summat. STEVE. And when’s a man to look pleased if ’tis not on his wedding morn, Dorry? DORRY. The tramp what was here did say as how ’twas poor work twice marrying, but you don’t find it be so, Dad, do you now? STEVE. And that I don’t, my little wench. ’Tis as nigh heaven as I be like to touch—and that’s how ’tis with me. JANE. [_Taking_ STEVE’S _coat from him_.] Ah, ’tis a different set out altogether this time. That ’tis. ’Tis a-marrying into your own rank, like, and no mixing up with they trolloping gipsies. DORRY. Was my own mammy a trolloping gipsy, Gran? JANE. [_Beginning to brush_ STEVE’S _coat_.] Ah, much in the same pattern as th’ old woman what’s drunk asleep against the fireside. Here, button up them gloves, ’tis time we was off. DORRY. I do like Miss Sims. She do have nice things on her. When I grows up I’d like to look as she do, so I would.