It was, indeed, a "lonesome" place, and there was something "terr'ble" in its solitude compared to the comfortable closeness and crowding chimneys of Buzley's Court; but, fortunately for Biddy, her busy life at Truslow Manor did not leave much leisure for dwelling upon this. As time went on she and her mistress, drawn together by one common interest, became really attached to each other; the baby's crumpled red hand, which could just hold one of Biddy's fingers, kept her a willing prisoner in its feeble yet mighty grasp, and all went on well. For Mrs Roy was not disappointed in her hope of finding her little nurse a support and comfort, and valued her opinion highly with regard to the baby's ailments; true, it was sometimes rather irksome and annoying to hear so often that "our" Johnnie, or "Julia," or "Stevie" had cut their teeth and felt their legs exactly in the same way as dear little Dulcie. Mrs Roy naturally felt it impossible that there should be another baby the least like Dulcie; but she was wise enough to conceal this, and to allow Biddy's confidences about Buzley's Court and the Lane family to flow on unchecked. So, despite the strangeness of many things in Wavebury, and their contrast to all she had been used to, Biddy was happy, and soon began to feel at home there; but she did not cease to wonder at some country customs, and amongst them the fact which specially struck her, that nearly all the women worked in the fields as well as the men. When in her errands to and from the village she passed these tramping along the roads, she stared at them with astonishment that did not lessen with time. Everything about them was so curious. Their deeply lined faces were red with wind and weather and old before their time--made harsher, too, than nature intended, because all the hair was tucked away under the cotton sun-bonnet, which were the most feminine-looking of their garments, the rest of which gave a general effect of coarse sacking ending in heavy boots. Biddy singled out one of these women as an object of almost fearful interest, and got into a way of watching for her as she passed Truslow Manor every morning to her work. She was tall and very powerfully built, her features were coarse and swollen, and there was something repelling and yet fascinating to Biddy in her cunning, shifty glance. The way in which she strode along the road, too, swinging a rake, or hoe, or pitchfork in her hand, gave an impression of reckless strength which made the little nurse-girl shudder, and yet she felt unable to remove her gaze as long as the woman was in sight. One day as Biddy was hastening home from an errand in the village she saw this well-known figure coming towards her with its usual rolling movement, and to her surprise it came to a stand in front of her, and, leaning on the handle of its pitchfork, surveyed her with a sort of leer. Biddy stopped too, and they looked at each for a minute in silence. Then the woman spoke: