Anne was secretly relieved that Mable didn't take offense. She was a little uncomfortable introducing her friend to her people. So many outsiders considered fisherpeople strange, if not simply dirty and beneath them.

And this wasn't even her family yet.

"No she lives over there. She's the Davies' lass."

"And I'm 'er brother. 'ow come ye speak funny like that?" one of the playing children piped up.

"You talk funny, Nick. Shut up," Anne scolded him, and she turned to Mable. "Come on!"

She led her friend further into the Cragg and then turned into a yard. There were two outside privies and a shed in a corner. On the other side of the yard there was a pump. Some of the pavestones had cracked or were missing. There were doors on the ground level, and then steps up to doors above them, suggesting that there were in fact many homes opening on to this yard. At the far end there was crumbling a flight of stairs further up to the cliff, with more cottages on either side.

Anne led her friend up some steps to one of the doors above ground, and inside. The room was dimly lit for there were only two modest thick glass windows on the yard side and none in the back, and the sky was dark today. There was a table in the middle of the room, covered with old newspaper that functioned as makeshift tablecloth, and a black kitchen range in the back, with clothes hanging nearby to dry. Overhead there were wires from which more clothes, some fishing gear and other items were suspended. The area around a trap door in the ceiling was left clear though. On the left there was a door. On the right, the was a wooden panel spanning most of that side of the wall. The shutters in the middle were open, and revealed blankets and pillows behind. Anne quickly closed shutters of the bedstead, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, I was airin' it."

Whether that was effective was up for debate. The entire room was damp and yet smelled of smoke. "Uhm, like I said, it ain't much. Ye can put the basket down 'ere by t' table."