"I've such a terrible crick in my back, I dussn't do it," answered Sarah Rocliffe. "Why, how much does that there box weigh? I wonder Jonas had the face to put it in the cart, and expect Clutch to draw it. Clutch didn't like it now, did he?" "But how can I get my box in and carried up? Jonas is with the horse, I suppose?" "Oh, yes, he is minding the horse. Clutch must be made comfortable, and given his hay. I'll be bound you and Jonas have been eatin' and drinkin' all day, and never given Clutch a mouthful, nor washed his teeth with a pail o' water." "I'm sure Joe Filmer looked to the horse at the Ship. He is very attentive to beasts." "On ordinary days, and when nuthin' is goin' on, I dare say--not when there's weddin's and ducks and green peas goin' for any who axes for 'em." The report that ducks and green peas were to form an element of the entertainment had been told everywhere before the day of the marriage, and it was bitterness to Mrs. Rocliffe to think that "on principle," as she put it, she had been debarred from eating her share. "Ducks and green peas!" repeated she. "I s'pose you don't reckon on eating that every day here, no, nor on Sundays, no, not even at Christmas. 'Taint such as we in the Punch-Bowl as can stuff ourselves on ducks and green peas. Green peas and ducks we may grow--but we sells 'em to the quality." After some consideration Mrs. Rocliffe relented sufficiently to say, "I don't know but what Samuel may be idlin'; he mostly is. I'll go and send my son Samuel to help you with the box." Then with a surly "Good-night" the woman withdrew. After a couple of minutes, she returned: "I've come back," she said, "to tell you that if old Clutch is off his meat--and I shouldn't wonder if he was--wi' neglect and wi' drawing such a weight--then you'd best set to work and make him gruel. Jonas can't afford to lose old Clutch, just becos he's got a wife." Then she departed again. Jonas was indeed in the stable attending to the horse. He had, moreover, to run the cart under shelter. Mehetabel put out a trembling hand to snuff the candle. Her hand was so unsteady that she extinguished the light. Where to find the tinder box she knew not. She felt for a bench, and in the darkness when she had reached it, sank on it, and burst into tears. Such was the welcome to her new home. For some time she sat with as little light in her heart as there was without. She felt some relief in giving way to her surcharged heart. She sobbed and knitted her fingers together, unknitted them, and wove them together again in convulsions of distress--of despair.