Then Louie's shrill voice broke in-- 'Tell us what she's got on!' And the girl leant eagerly forward, her magnificent eyes kindling into interest.
'What she's got on, my lassie?
Eh, but I'm feart your yead, too, is fu' o' gauds!--Wal, it's but nateral to females.

She's aw in white satin, my lassie,--an in her brown hair theer's pearls, an a blue ribbon just howdin down t' little luve-locks on her forehead--an on her saft neck theer's pearls again--not soa white, by a thoosand mile, as her white skin--an t' lace fa's ower her proud shoothers, an down her luvely arms--an she looks at me wi her angry eyes--Eh, but she's a queen!' cried 'Lias, in a sudden outburst of admiration.

'She hath been a persecutor o' th' saints--a varra Jeezebel--the Lord hath put her to shame--but she's moor sperrit--moor o't' blood o' kingship i' her little finger, nor Charles theer in aw his body!' And by a strange and crazy reversal of feeling, the old man sat in a kind of ecstasy, enamoured of his own creation, looking into thin air.

As for Louie, during the description of the Queen's dress she had drunk in every word with a greedy attention, her changing eyes fixed on the speaker's face.

When he stopped, however, she drew a long breath.
'It's aw lees!' she said scornfully.
'Howd your tongue, Louie!' cried David, angrily.
But 'Lias took no notice.