Down in the hollow below the downs, Martha was hurrying her husband along. She had him by the elbow that she might the better urge him forward, and whenever he opened his mouth to speak she bade him hold his tongue, for though the moon was bright, the wind whistled from the nor’-west and the air was keen. But she talked for two. “To think of it, Bill!” laughed she. “There were a time when I was sweet on that great ’ulkin’ chap up yonder. Yes, and ’e on me, too! We’s changed our minds since then, ain’t we! He _’ave_ got a little ninny of a wife and no mistake! I wouldn’t stand bein’ chucked about as ’e do ’er. So I s’pose we be both best suited as we be.” “I shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Bill Hewson through his mufflers. And then they reached the inn and went in to the warmth, and Martha Hewson saw her husband to bed. THE BREAD-WINNER THE BREAD-WINNER Mother and daughter came toiling up the hill above the marsh-land, swinging a basket of linen between them. The daughter was but a little one—just eleven years old—but beginning to be fit to help mother a bit: and the mother herself was scarcely past thirty, though she had three younger than Sue to care for. They came up fast, for there was a mass of purple cloud behind the town on the distant hill, and a still darker bank of it across the horizon out to sea, and the rain might come down again at any moment. It had been a bad season for laundresses, and the drying of clothes a very difficult job; there was another lot to get home to-night before going to bed if it could be managed: more than enough to do, yet not enough with it all to keep the six mouths filled, and Mrs. Wood was on her way to try for another family’s work. “You get along ’ome with this, Sue,” she said to her child; “you can manage the basket alone now you be on the top, can’t ye? There be cold bacon in the cupboard for dinner. You lay it out ready: I’ve got to step in and see post-mistress. She ’ave let ’er ’ouse on the ’ill to a family from London. They say there be lots o’ children, and it’d be a good job for us if I could get ’er to speak for me.” “I ’ope post-mistress won’t be nasty then,” said the child with wisdom that sat sadly on her chubby face and seemed to have no place in the innocent, brown eyes. “She caught father drunk last night when you guv ’im that postal order to git cashed, and she went on at ’im h’awful.” The mother’s brow clouded. She seemed to find nothing strange in the child’s remark; it was evident that she was wont to make this little eldest daughter the confidante of her troubles—but her brow clouded with anger.