“It’s more than a while now since I’d a pipe. Marget can’t abide smoke about a house.” “Seems she can’t abide owt as gives folk pleasure!” Agnes carped. There was something hurt and aggrieved in her voice that had not been there before; something graver, as well, as if the tone of her mind had changed. She still sat at the table, looking straight before her over the pots, and never once at the couple busy with the pipe. The meal had indeed been a sacrifice of sorts, and never a whiff of smoke had gone up from it to heaven. The gods had slept while the oblation was being made, and now there was nothing to do but to clear away. At least the fault, if there was a fault, was none of hers. Things never happened as one expected, of course.... Kit was holding the pipe limply in his hand, another stranger pretending to be a friend. His son’s eyes were set hopefully on his face, waiting for a look of cheer. “I’ll fill it, shall I?” he asked. “You’re right kind.” “Likely you’d be better suited wi’ twist!” “Nay, not I. Bacca’ll do grand.” Thomas said, “Yon’s the ticket!” and handed over the pipe, and Kit took it and held it limply as before. “Where’s t’laylock?” he asked suddenly, staring through the porch. “You’ve never hagged down yon laylock as used to be by t’door?” “Nay, not I,” Thomas said, with honest regret. “’Twas wind as took it—yon gale we had in March. A terble storm it was, to be sure! I made certain house was going an’ all.” “I never heard tell as laylock was gone,” Kit said. He spoke the words very slowly, because he was thinking back. He remembered the storm, and how he had never slept the whole night long, not because he was afraid, but because it brought the sound of the sea. The chestnuts close to his window had been like giants raving in the dark, and now and then one hewed a limb from another and sent it crashing down. He had sat in a whistling draught and pictured the long waves breaking on the shore, and heard the long roar of succession filling the farmhouse. The yew tree, of course, would neither break nor bend, and the lilac would bend but it would never break. Morning showed great boughs across the road, but the trees of his dream were still untouched and whole. No gale that blew could harm the trees of his dream; and yet that storm had brought the lilac down.... “I never thought on to say,” Thomas answered with a troubled air. “I’m sorry about laylock, but there’s a new seat down by t’hedge. You’ll find it rarely snug, if you want to be setting out.”