Keturah was kneading bread, and much more vigorously than the process required, when Nancy entered the kitchen. One sullen glance of inquiry she flung over her shoulders, and seeing neither illness nor penitence in the girl’s expression tightened her lips. She was an elderly sharp-featured woman, rather tall and spare, with hair that had grown thin and scanty and was twisted into a bunch not much bigger than a walnut at the back of her head. It was pepper-coloured, like her brother’s, but of a warmer tint, as if damp had got to it, which was not improbable seeing that the reservoir that supplied the tears which self-pity always called forth must have been very near to her eyes. They were dry enough now because vexation was choking the ducts. “I’d forgotten it was baking-day,” said Nancy, as she lifted the lid of the kettle and peeped inside, “but I had a bad night and wasn’t rested.” Silence greeted the explanation, and Nancy said no more but proceeded to prepare her breakfast. “Where’s the butter?” she asked, as she returned from the larder with a half loaf and the empty dish in her hand. “_I_ can’t help it if it’s finished,” Keturah snapped. “One pair o’ hands can’t get a man his breakfast, and put him up his dinner, and be off down t’ road for butter and get bread into t’ bowl so as it can be rising all in a minute. You should ha’ seen we were short o’ butter last night, i’stead o’ bending over fancy work, same as you’d naught to do but ring t’ bell and there’d be a toathri servant lassies to come and put you a cob on t’ fire. You mud well have a poor night, and naught but right too, making a slavey of one ’at’s nearhand old enough to be your gran’mother, and then expecting me to be running errands like a six-year-old, while you lie i’ bed and rest yourself.” What had begun as a snap ended as a wail; but Nancy was unmoved. “Well, you’ve salted the bread already I suppose,” she returned coolly; “and you’ll not improve the dough by crying over it. Dry toast’ll do for me nicely, for there’s a bit of dripping with the ham, I see, and I’d as soon have it cold as not.” “I’ll warrant you!” said Keturah, with a note of disappointment added to that of vexation. “If there’s a bit o’ something tasty hidden away you’ll nose it out like a dog with a bone. I’d meant that mouthful o’ ham for my own supper, for it’s little enough support I get ’at has all t’ weight o’ t’ house on my shoulders. But it’s t’ way o’ t’ world; them ’at work their fingers to t’ bone for fine ladies must be content to lick t’ dish out for their share o’ t’ pudding.” “It’s the rule of the house, isn’t it?” replied Nancy indifferently. “‘Catch as catch can.’ You should bury your bones deeper, Keturah, if you don’t want ’em to be found.” The woman flashed into temper; but her spirit was too moist to fire and the spark ended in a sizzle.