plates, on one of which she puts a barmbrack with a knife beside
it. On the other she shakes some biscuits out of a tin, putting
back one or two, and counting the rest.) Now mind: there are ten
biscuits there: let there be ten there when I come back after
dressing myself. And keep your fingers off the raisins in that
cake. And tell Essie the same. I suppose I can trust you to bring
in the case of stuffed birds without breaking the glass? (She
replaces the tin in the cupboard, which she locks, pocketing the
key carefully.)

CHRISTY (lingering at the fire). You'd better put the inkstand
instead, for the lawyer.

MRS. DUDGEON. That's no answer to make to me, sir. Go and do as
you're told. (Christy turns sullenly to obey.) Stop: take down
that shutter before you go, and let the daylight in: you can't
expect me to do all the heavy work of the house with a great
heavy lout like you idling about.

Christy takes the window bar out of its damps, and puts it aside;
then opens the shutter, showing the grey morning. Mrs. Dudgeon
takes the sconce from the mantelshelf; blows out the candle;
extinguishes the snuff by pinching it with her fingers, first
licking them for the purpose; and replaces the sconce on the
shelf.

CHRISTY (looking through the window). Here's the minister's wife.

MRS. DUDGEON (displeased). What! Is she coming here?