Each fresh proof of the ostracism which had become her mother’s portion added to her wrath and woe. She had not had a bit of meat to her dinner, as was invariably the case on Sunday, not having dared to venture forth to buy it. There was not so much as a drop of milk in the house, the child who usually brought it having declined to perform that office. Ann had not liked even to go out and get herself a few “spuds”--there were so many folks about on Saturdays, she explained. There was no fire in the grate, though the autumn day was sharp, for Farmer Cosser had “dared” her to pick up any more sticks in his field. “I d’ ’low ye’d ha’ been dead afore long, if I hadn’t ha’ come,” cried Martha, and then fell a-sobbing again. What was the use of her having come? What good could she do? The two women were sitting together in very melancholy mood, when Farmer Joyce called to say that he would hitch the horse at six o’clock, and Martha must meet him at the top of the road. “Hullo!” he cried, breaking off short at sight of their tearful faces, “be you all a-cryin’ in here?” And then Martha, eager for sympathy, made bold to clutch at his stout arm and pour forth her tale. The farmer, leaning against the door-post, listened at first in amusement, afterwards with an indignation almost equal to the daughter’s own. “I never did hear such a thing!” he cried emphatically, as she paused for breath. “They must be a pack o’ sammies in this place--and wicked uns, too. Dear heart alive! they’ve fair gallied the poor wold ’ooman out of her wits. Be there any one about? I’ll soon show ’em what I think of ’em.” “There’s a good few folks just goin’ their ways to church,” cried Martha, eagerly pointing up the lane. “Then I’ll step up and give ’em a bit o’ my mind,” returned he. “You come along wi’ I, Mrs. Kerley--don’t ye stop for to put on your bonnet--throw this ’ere ’ankercher over your cap--else we’ll not be in time to catch ’em, maybe.” “No, I dursen’t do that,” protested Ann, plucking away the handkerchief which he had thrown over her head; “’twas that which did first start the notion. ’Twas a windy day, d’ye see, an’ I was going to pick a bit o’ scroff, an’ I just tied my handkercher round my head--an’ when the bwoys did see I, they did pelt I wi’ stones and call I witch.” “Young rascals!” ejaculated the farmer, who had by this time hauled her out of the house, and was hurrying with her up the lane. “Come on, Martha! Make haste, ’ooman! There be a lot of ’em yonder.” In a few moments he and the breathless women found themselves in the midst of quite a little crowd, for Farmer Joyce had waylaid the first group he came across, and the sound of his stentorian tones, raised in wrathful accusation, speedily summoned others.