She was up at daybreak every morning; we used to hear her scolding and swilling or throwing a pet word to her cats--she had five. But on Sundays she used to lie very late--until half-past seven. She took a bath--as a pious duty. When breakfast was over, she sat in the living room, with the big Bible in front of her and her spectacles on the open page, until it was time to go to chapel. She drove there regularly every Sunday. It was a rich sight to see her with her two sons, in the shabby wagonette, sitting bolt upright in widow’s weeds, with black kid gloves, purple in the palms and much too long in the fingers. Sunday was a day of days. We fed on cold meat and salad; it was the one day on which she refused to sell milk or to spud about in her garden. In the afternoon she would walk solemnly through her meadows, never speculating on the crops or allowing her sons to do so, but holding up her black silk skirt carefully, and drawing her sour Sabbath lip. She was very kind to Jimmy--taking good care of his body, although she despaired of his soul. In her young days she had been a cook, and she tempted his flagging appetite with many dainties. There was one particular dish of candied red currants. If anyone called on her--say, between three and half-past--for milk, for advice about a sick baby, for herbal treatment of a wound, or for the simple loan of a black crock, Jib or Zak would be lurching at the house door. They were grotesquely alike, those sons of hers, with the Biblical names of Jabez and Zachary. She always called them Jib and Zak on week days; Jabez and Zachary on Sundays. They had an odd way of greeting you. They gave a nod--half sheepish, half jovial--or they raised a broad, dingy thumb to a sun-baked straw hat, according to their mood or the social status of the visitor. Their answer to all inquiries was: “Mother ’ull be down directly. Would you care to step inside out o’ the sun and set down, till you hear her draw up the clock?” That was her rule. For forty years, except when stopped by trivialities--such as a confinement--she had drawn up the thirty-hour clock the moment before she came down from her afternoon’s cleaning. That afternoon black dress, with jet buttons! I remember the tiny, shiny silk apron, with the bead edging and the prim pockets. She never put in her false teeth until the afternoon, nor pinned on her false hair, which was three shades too light. In the mornings she slipped about the kitchen and dairy in an old skirt, a nondescript bodice, and a shawl--thick or thin, according to the direction of the wind.