'Well, Miss,' she said, with a bright smile--her face was quite red with the cold air, and her hair not so smooth as she generally kept it--'my arm does ache, to tell the truth. And my barley's nearly done. I have tried to scatter it wide, so as the finches and larks may have a chance, even when the jackdaws and rooks are at it.' 'Are you scattering food for the birds, then?' 'They're starved out in this weather, Miss; and then the boys come out wi' their guns; and the dicky-laggers are after them too----' 'The what?' 'The bird-catchers, Miss. If I was a farmer now, I'd take a horsewhip, I would, and I'd send those gentry double quick back to Whitechapel. And the gentle-folks, Miss, it isn't right of them to encourage the trapping of larks when there's plenty of other food to be got. Well, my three-penn'orth o' barley that I bought in Newhaven is near done now.' She looked into the little wallet that she had twisted round in front of her. 'Oh, if you don't mind,' said Nan, eagerly, 'I will give you a shilling--or two or three shillings--to get some more.' 'You could do better than that, Miss,' said Sal. 'Maybe you know some one that lives in Lewes Crescent?' 'Yes, I do.' 'Well, ye see, Miss, there's such a lot o' birds as won't eat grain at all; and if you was to get the key of the garden in Lewes Crescent, and get a man to sweep the snow off a bit of the grass, and your friends might throw down some mutton bones and scraps from the kitchen, and the birds from far and near would find it out--being easily seen, as it might be. Half the thrushes and blackbirds along this countryside 'll be dead before this snow gives out.' 'Oh, I will go back at once and do that,' said Nan, readily. 'Look how they've been running about all the morning,' said this fresh-coloured, dark-eyed woman, regarding the traceries on the snow at her feet. 'Most of them larks--you can see the spur. And that's a rook with his big heavy claws. And there's a hare, Miss--I should say he was trotting as light as could be--and there's nothing uglier than a trotting hare--he's like a race-horse walking--all stiff and jolting, because of the high aunches--haunches, Miss. They're all bewildered-like, birds and beasts the same. I saw the pad of a fox close by Rottingdean; he must have come a long way to try for a poultry-yard. And, what's rarer, I saw a covey of partridges, Miss, settle down on the sea as I was coming along by Saltdean Gap. They was tired out, poor things, and not driven before the wind either, but fighting against it, and going out to sea blind-like; and then I saw them sink down on to the water, and then the waves knocked them about anyway. I hear there was a wonderful sight of brent geese up by Berling Gap yesterday--but I'm keeping you standing in the cold, Miss----' 'I will walk back with you,' said Nan, turning. 'No, Miss. No, thank you, Miss,' said Sal, sturdily.