And then she shaded her eyes and made out two dark and two fair-haired curly heads in the group of children playing in the road, and called out to them to come in to bed. She caught the last, the youngest, who was a boy, in her arms as he came up the steps and hugged him, and laughed for the first time that day as he kicked and struggled to get free. “They’re in a rare mess, Sue,” she called out to the little elder sister. “You’d best give ’em their supper first, while I step up wi’ the linen. I won’t be long, but I must look in at the Post-office ’bout that there job or I’ll be too late. Leave washin’ o’ Johnnie till I come in; ’e’ll be too much for you.” She passed back into the dwelling-room, taking off her apron and rolling down her sleeves as she went. “The shirts can wait till the mornin’,” she added. “They want some airin’ yet.” “I ’ope ye’ll get the work at the new ’ouse, mother,” said Sue cheerily as her mother went down the road; and she set the little brothers and sisters around sitting on the doorstep and gave them their milk and dry bread for supper. But the luck was not in Mrs. Wood’s way that day; the job was gone before she got to the Post-office. Miss Hearn assured her curtly that it had been gone before she knew of her wanting it; it had gone to Widow Collins. “I should ha’ thought ye might ha’ guessed I should want it fast enough, ma’am,” said poor Lucy humbly. “Widow Collins ain’t got no mouths to feed now ’er son’s provided for, and I don’t never ’ave work enough, wi’ all I can get to feed them as counts upon me.” “Well, I’m sorry for ye,” said the post-mistress, though her tone belied her words, “but I’m bound to speak fair and honest to strangers accordin’ to what I’m asked, ye know. And folk will put awkward questions sometimes.” Mrs. Wood flushed hot. “’Tain’t fair, then,” said she, her voice trembling, but whether she alluded to the question that had been put, or to the answer that had been given, she did not specify. “If I do my work proper, and up to time, I don’t think nothink else ain’t nobody’s business.” “That’s as may be,” retorted the superior, pursing her lips, and Lucy Wood went home. She had heard no word of her husband—nothing but that Jim Casey had gone to the sea-port, and thither she was forced to suppose Jerry had gone too. She washed her boy and put him to bed and bade Sue turn in too, and when she had damped the linen ready for the morrow’s final ironing, she put a light in the window, in case Jerry should come by the top way, and closing the front door softly, slunk shyly down to the wall at the end of the road to watch for that home-coming that she longed for and yet dreaded. Many a time had she thus watched and waited before, but somehow to-night there was on her a deeper and more incomprehensible fear than she had ever known.