"There's no pleasing you," growled Hill. "Last night you were a'most crying, cause Davvy couldn't be let go over to see your mother; and, now that he is gone, _that_ don't please ye! Women be the very deuce for grumbling." Mrs. Hill dropped the subject--there could be no remedy--and gave her husband his breakfast in silence. Hill seemed to eat nothing, and looked very pale; at moments ghastly. "Don't you feel well?" she asked. "Well?--I'm well enough. What should ail me--barring the cold? It's as sharp a frost as ever I was out in." "Drink this," she said, pouring him out another cup of hot tea. "It is cold; and I'm sorry we've got it so for our moving. What time shall we get in to-day, Hill?" "Not at all." "Not at all!" repeated the wife in surprise. "No, not at all," was Hill's surly confirmation. "What with you disabled, and Davvy o' no use, things is not as forrard as they ought to be. I've got to be off to my work too, pretty quick, or the Squire'll be about me. We shan't get in till to-morrow." "But nearly all our things are in," she remonstrated. "There's as good as nothing left here." "I tell ye we don't go in afore to-morrow," said Hill, giving the table a thump. "Can't ye be satisfied with that?" He went off to his work. Mrs. Hill, accepting the change as inevitable, resigned herself, and borrowed a saucepan to cook the potatoes for dinner. She might have spared herself the trouble; her husband did not come in for any. He bought a penny loaf and some cheese, and made his dinner of it inside our home barn, Molly giving him some beer. He had done it before when very busy: but the work he was about that day was in no such hurry, and he might have left it if he would. "Who is to sleep in the house to-night?" his wife asked him when he got home to tea. "I shall," said Hill. "I won't be beholden to nobody." Mrs. Hill, remembering the experience of the past night, quaked a little at finding she should have to sleep in the old place alone, devoutly praying there might be no recurrence of the dream that had thrown her into such mortal terror. She and Davy were just alike--frightened at their own shadows in the dark. When Hill was safe off, she hurried into bed, and kept her head under the clothes. Hill came back betimes in the morning; and they moved in at once; old Coney's groom, who happened to be out with the dog-cart, offering to drive Mrs. Hill. Though her ankle was better and the distance short, she could hardly have walked. Instead of finding the house in order, as she expected, it was all sixes and sevens; the things lying about all over it.