"Why not? Ward women have always cleaned up nice. There. Don't you look smashin'?" Lottie remarked as Anne twirled about the front room in a flutter of wool. "I wasn't sure what the girls wear these days, but the lady at the shop helped. "Stop dancin' a moment so I can get a proper look." Up, down. "Do you like that colour of green?"

"Like it? Why I love it!" said Anne, following Mrs. Blacke's instruction and basking in all the attention. "It's just me favourite colour. I remember mum 'ad a skirt like this. Well, not like this, I suppose, but this colour. Her nice one for Sunday. Do ye remember, Mrs. Blacke?"

It was strange what morsels of the past children remembered with absolute clarity. There had been so much living done since Hannah was with them.

"I'm afraid I don't. But I'm sure yer right. Ye lookin' more and more like her every day"

Anne smiled warmly at Mrs. Blacke, though there was a subtle sadness in her eyes. "I take that as a compliment. Da' used to say she could 'ave married a prince with 'er looks." Anne looked down at herself and spun round. "I wish she were 'ere to see me."

"I miss 'er too. She'd be so proud of ye" Lottie said. How could she be sure of what a dead person would think. Still, it was a nice sentiment.

Anne did another spin. When she stopped, she gave Mrs. Blacke a warm look. "I 'ope she would 'ave been. I'm sure she'd be so grateful to you, Mrs. Blacke for all yer kindness to me. As am I. I'd feel so alone in t' world if it wasn't for ye." And with that, she stepped forward and embraced Mrs. Blacke once again.

Yes. Lottie decided mid-hug, of all her children, Anne was her favourite. "Ye'll always get kindness from your mam"

Anne basked in the love for a while. Then she finally let go. "Can I do sum't for ye, Mrs. Blacke? Me dad says I can spend t' afternoon, if that's alright with ye. Rose's taken over me chores. I'm not dressed to 'elp ye with t' washin'. But I could read to ye while ye work."

Ever since Alice had left, it had been Anne's job to read to her family at night during their short time of leisure before bed. Sometimes it was a Bible story. Sometimes it was a few poems from the book of verses that her mother had won in Sunday school as a child, a family heirloom they all took great pride in. Sometimes it was a story-section from the periodical that passed from family to family until that episode of the serial story had been read by every fireplace in the Crag.

"That'd be lovely dear. There should be a book or a paper over there on the side table."

Anne followed Lottie's directions. Her eyes quickly noped over the family Bible - she felt slightly guilty - and landed on one of the Cleveland Weekly instead. Having found the weekly short story, she followed Mrs. Blacke out to the back and sat down in the door opening.

She began to read. It was a serial story about four siblings who had been brought up comfortably, but had fallen on hard times after their parents died and a great debt was revealed and now lived in a little cottage on the moors. The eldest, Paul, had taken a job as a farmhand and found the manual labour hard but was beginning to appreciate the simplicity of his new life. Last week's story had focused on Lisa, the second, who had been forced to take up work as a scullery maid in a nearby mansion had felt jealous of the family she was serving. She had ended up stealing a silver hairbrush, but rather than handing her over to the police, the Mistress had forgiven her when Lisa had confessed what she had done and seen the evil of her ways. Now Lisa served the family happily and her hard work had gotten her promoted to kitchen maid. This week focused on James, the third child, who was ten and had to go to a new rural school, where he knew no one. As James looked around his classroom, he felt that it was really quite a disgrace that he had to learn with these backward poor people who had no use for education anyway.

"How awful!" Anne exclaimed. "What a wicked boy, James is! He should 'ave been humbled by his circumstances."