“She’d ha’ given him nowt,” Thomas growled, “if it wasn’t she was feared o’ finishing him off. Brass she was getting for him was over good to lose. He never eat what I give her, I’ll be bound.... Ay, he’d always a fancy-like for ham, and when he’d finished he’d gang outside for his smoke. There’s a new pipe I bought him, somewheres. Marget took t’other off him, Bob said.... Ay, an’ there’s some of his pet bacca in a tin.” “Have you finished yon seat you were making for him under t’hedge?” “Ay, it’s finished right enough. A gradely seat it is an’ all—a sight better than t’other as used to be by t’door. If you’ll stop fidging over yon table you might take a look for yourself.” She laughed and went out with him into the porch. Their figures divided the sun as they stood, so that they looked like swimmers deep in the streaming gold. Their heads leaned together as they nodded approval at the seat, a wooden bench in the arms of a well-laid fence. It was a grand seat, Agnes said, and a grand evening for anybody wanting to sit out. They pictured the old man sitting there, warming himself in the last of the sun. They were excited and full of plans again, like children preparing for a treat. She had her hand on his arm, peering across him round the porch, when the trap suddenly lumbered into sight. It might have been dumped out of space on the straight-ruled road, a languid object jolting over the flat. Thomas, meditating proudly upon the seat, turned about to a hasty prod. “There it be, Thomas—there it be! Trap, I mean, man—look ye—can’t ye see? Be off now as smart as you can. They’ll be here afore you’ve made shift to start.” She tried to push him out of the porch, deaf to his protest that the trap had a fairish piece to cover yet. “A bonny time it’ll take an’ all,” he added, “wi’ yon bag o’ bones atween the shafts. Seems like it meant liggin’ down for a bit of a nap.” “Best be soon than late,” she urged. “Nay, now, be off, do!”—and he allowed himself to be shoved on to the path, grinning at her eager face. “I’ll have kettle singing by you’re back,” she went on, “and then there’ll be nowt to keep us from setting to, right off. Bob’ll have a bite o’ summat, likely, afore he makes off. Eh, but I’m right fain to see the old man’s face when he passes t’door.” “He’ll find summat better than Marget to look at, and that’s sure!” he teased her, lingering, and she stamped her foot at him and cried: “Get on, you gert soft!” And he answered, “I _is_ getting on!” and stood like a stock. The farm, full of the evening sun, and with smiling figures at its door, made a gay enough welcome for the exile that was drawing towards it over the marsh. Thomas received a final wave of mingled speeding and threat, and then the blue gown vanished through the porch. “We mun do what we can,” he heard her call from within, “but if we don’t suit him better than Marget, I’ll shut up house!”