But come and look, anyhow; Andrew will be gone directly.' Bess dragged Martha by the arm to the top of the cinder-hill, where they could see the pit-girls clustering round the packman in the lane.

The black linen wrapper in which his pack was carried was stretched along the hedge, and upon it was spread a great show of bright-coloured shawls and dresses, and the girls were flitting from one to another, closely examining their quality; while Andrew's wife walked up and down, exhibiting each shawl by turns upon her shoulders.

The temptation was too strong for Martha; she wiped the soap-suds from her arms upon her apron, and ran as eagerly down to the lane as Black Bess herself.
'Eh! here's a clean, tight lass for you!' cried Andrew, comparing Martha with the begrimed pit-girls about him.

'The best shawl in my pack isn't good enough for you, my dear.

Pick and choose.