Leaving me on the wooden bench outside Jael Batty's door, she went in. It was remarkably lively: the farrier's shop opposite to look at, five hay-ricks, and a heap of children who strolled after us from the churchyard, and stayed to stare at me. Mrs. Coney came out again soon. "It's of no use my remaining, Johnny. She can't understand a word said to her, only lies there rambling, and asking people to bring her baby. If she had any sense left in her, she might just go down on her knees in thankfulness that it's gone. Jael Batty says she has done nothing else but wail for it all the blessed morning." "Well, it is only natural she should." "Natural! Natural to mourn for that baby! Don't you say stupid things, Johnny. It's a great mercy that it has been taken; and you must know that as well as any one." "I don't say it isn't; babies must make no end of noise and work; but you see mothers care for them." "Don't be a simpleton, Johnny. If you take to upholding tramps and infants dying in sheds, goodness knows what you'll come to in time." * * * * * At the end of a fortnight, Ashton of Timberdale and his wife came home. It was a fine afternoon in the middle of January, but getting dusk, and a lot of us had gone over to the Court to see them arrive. Jane looked as happy as a queen. "Johnny," she whispered, whilst we were standing to take some tea that Mother Broom (with a white cockade in her cap) brought in upon a silver tray, "how about that poor woman? She is not dead, I hope?" I told Jane that she was better. The fever had gone down, but she was so weak and reduced that the doctor had not allowed her to be questioned. We knew no more of who she was than we had known before. Mrs. Coney overheard what I was saying, and took Jane aside. There seemed to be a bit of a battle: Mrs. Coney remonstrating with a severe face, Jane holding out and flushing a little. She was telling Jane not to go to Jael Batty's, and representing why she ought not to go. Jane said she must go--her heart was set upon it: and began to re-tie her bonnet-strings. "Mother dear, don't be angry with me in this the first hour of entering on my new home--it would seem like a bad omen for me. You don't know how strongly I have grown to think that my duty lies in seeing this poor woman, in comforting her if I can. It cannot hurt me." "What do you suppose Robert would say? It is to him you owe obedience now, Jane, not to me." "To him first, and to you next, my mother; and I trust I shall ever yield it to you both. But Robert is quite willing that I should go: he knows all I think about it." "Jane, I wouldn't have said a word against it; indeed I had made up my mind that it was a good wish on your part; but now that we have discovered she is in some way connected with--with the Birds--why, I don't think Robert will like you to meddle with it. I'm sure I shrink from telling him."