She was washing.

The man was a stiff built, shock- headed little fellow, with a squint in his eye that seemed to enrich the good-humoured expression of his countenance.

Sitting smiling by the window, he looked as if he had lots of fun in him, if he only had a fair chance of letting it off.

He told us that he was a "tackler" by trade.

A tackler is one who fettles looms when they get out of order.