No, she did not understand, and although in that first year of marriage, Rob left his young bride continually alone, although his varied employments seemed to take him in all directions, she was not suspicious, and she did not complain. It was natural that he should not stay with her (‘him so clever!’), of course he had plenty of other things to do; the meekness that had not rebelled at her mother’s harshness was not even surprised at her husband’s indifference. She had something to console her, for before a year was over her little Annie was born, and the next year her little Nat, and the care and affection she lavished on her babies made such an opportunity for love as she had not known before. She had been only just seventeen at the time she married, and was barely nineteen when her last child was born. And so the years slipped away slowly, one by one, in the simple employments of a workman’s wife, marked by the continual development of the children, and by drunken outbursts too frequently from Rob. But, as years went on he was still less at home, and even when he professed to be there he was not seen there often, though Jenny often sat up for him all the night that she might open the door as soon as his step was heard. No home in the village was kept more daintily, no children were prettier or more neatly dressed, the heavy poverty that pressed continually had nothing repulsive in its outward signs. But the neighbours complained that Mrs Salter kept herself too much apart; she had the reserve of sorrow, and preferred to be alone. More than eighteen years had passed since Jenny’s wedding day, and she had lived in the same place all the time, for the vagaries and expenses of her husband had never left him able to provide a larger house. At the foot of the hill there is a public-house, and by the side of it is a tiny lane, a lane that is not many feet in length, and is closed by a gate that leads out into the fields. Rob owned the old, whitewashed, red-tiled cottage that was nearest to the gate, with a little garden at the side, between it and the field. It was not large enough for a growing family, but those who are poor must do the best they can. And, certainly, if there was not much room in the cottage the same thing could not be said of the fields beyond, the wide, marshy fields that stretched down to the canal, and were known as the ‘Thackbusk’ by the village-folk. There were silver-grey willows in those wide-stretching fields, and masses of elder in the summer-time, and above could be seen the red roofs of the village, and far in the distance the grey cathedral towers. The Thackbusk allowed you plenty of room to play; the children of Jenny knew that very well.