Dora shrank. "And you can go on weeding with them?" "Yes, ma'am. What can us do, when one's man gets but seven shillings a week. And I've had six children, and buried three," and her face looked ready for tears. "Well, we will come and see you, and try to find something to help you," said Mrs Carbonel. "Where do you live?" "Out beyond the church, ma'am--a long way for a lady." "Oh, we are good walkers." "And please, my lady," now said Molly, coming to the front, "if you could give me an old bit of a pelisse, or anything, to make up for my boy there. He's getting big, you see, and he is terrible bad off for clothes. I don't know what is to be done for the lot of 'em." Dora had recognised in the staring boy, who had come up close, him who had made the commotion in church; and she ventured to say, "I remember him. Don't you think, if you or his father kept him with you in church, he would behave better there?" "Bless you, miss, his father is a sceptic. I can't go while I've got no clothes--nothing better than this, miss; and I always was used to go decent and respectable. Besides, I couldn't nohow take he into the seat with me, as Master Pucklechurch would say I was upsetting of his missus." "Well, I hope to see him behave better next Sunday." "Do you hear, Jem? The lady is quite shocked at your rumbustiousness! But 'twas all Joe Saunders's fault, ma'am, a terrifying the poor children. His father will give him the stick, that he will, if he hears of it again." Meantime Mrs Carbonel had turned to Widow Mole, who, after her first curtsey, had been weeding away diligently and coughing. "Where do you live?" she asked. "I don't think I have seen you before." "No, ma'am," she said quietly. "I live down the Black Hollow." "You don't look well. Have you been ill? You have a bad cough." "It ain't nothing, ma'am, thank you. I can keep about well enough." "Do you take anything for it?" "A little yarb tea at night sometimes, ma'am." "We will try and bring you some mixture for it," said Mrs Carbonel. And then she spoke to Betsy Seddon, who for a wonder had no request on her tongue, and asked her who the other woman was, in the hedge with the baby. "That's Tirzah Todd, ma'am," began Mrs Seddon, but Molly Hewlett thrust her aside, and went on, being always the most ready with words; "she is Reuben Todd's wife, and I wouldn't wish to say no harm of her, but she comes of a gipsy lot, and hasn't never got into ways that us calls reverend, though I wouldn't be saying no harm of a neighbour, ma'am." "No, you'd better not," exclaimed a voice, for Tirzah was nearer or had better ears than Mrs Daniel Hewlett had suspected, "though I mayn't go hypercriting about and making tales of my neighbours, as if you hadn't got a man what ain't to be called sober twice a week."