That afternoon she took a ramble over the Fells. The little girls had invited Ruffie to tea in their new sitting-room and had been busy cooking cakes and scones for the occasion. Fond of children as she was, Anstice was sometimes glad to get away alone. Hercules, the big mastiff, had attached himself to her, and now came bounding after her as she went down the drive. The air, as she mounted higher, exhilarated her. She had a message to leave for Brenda at Hockerdale Farm, and after having a pleasant little chat with Mrs. James, went on her way to call upon an old couple who lived at the extreme end of her husband's property. It was an isolated bit of country, down at the bottom of a little valley near a very small and picturesque lake. It was a still, warm afternoon, but there was a feeling of thunder in the air, and just before she reached the cottage, rain began to fall. The woman opened the door to her. She had a slim, upright figure and a very pleasant, smiling face. Anstice soon saw that she and her brother had original personalities. Sister and brother had lived in the little cottage for over thirty years; the man, Tommy Nixon, as he was familiarly called, owned some sheep, a couple of cows, a pony and a sheep-dog; his sister Ellen kept poultry. Their small kitchen with its big stove and oven in the well, the thick oak beams across the low ceiling, and the quantity of treasures in brass and china and lustre on its walls, made quite a picture, and Anstice longed for an artist's pencil and brush to transfer it to paper. "This will be a noted day for us, Mem," said Ellen, drawing a chair out for Anstice to sit on. "An' will ye be havin' a coop o' tay, fur I'm well able to gie't ye? We ha' mony a visitor t' our wee cottage, frae Americky, an' Scotland an' Ireland. We're not advertisin' nor puttin' 'tays' on a board, but we git weel spoken of frae one to anither. But 'tis not often we see the Squire's leddy nor any belongin' to him." "I shall be very grateful for some tea," said Anstice. "How lonely you are out here! What do you do with yourselves in the winter?" "We're never lonely," said Ellen, beaming upon her. "I havna been to a big toon fur ower five year. But there be always a lot to do. An' my hens be raal frens to me. I bake our bread and mak' t' butter, an' Tommy, he be always out aboot wi' the shaap." "But the long winter evenings: what do you do then?" "We leet t' lamp, an' I have ma bit sewin', an' Tommy, he has his carvin'; an' we be just very cheery a' the toime."