Then, turning from one to another with more alacrity than she had used this many a long day, she said, ‘Good husband mine and kindest neighbour Hob, do ye but take me in your arms this morning to the Town Church and leave the rest to the Lord. Fear not for the snow or the foul ways; I must die and that soon, and I might die the happier for your kindness.’ Hob looked at Gilbert. ‘We will do as she wishes,’ said Gilbert. They joined hands with crossed arms and took Meg upon their wrists, she staying herself thereon by clasping their shoulders. Thus they carried her forth between them in the twilight of the early morning. Their feet sank deeply into the snow even to their knees, and much ado they had to keep their footing on the rough way under such a burden and going in such a fashion. Often they stayed by the way to get their breath and to rest a while, when Meg stood leaning heavily upon her husband. Once as they stood thus she spied a dead bird that had dropped frozen upon the snow from the branches overhead. ‘Alas,’ quoth she, ‘thou poor bird.’ As they got nearer the town the morning lightened. ‘Are we far off yet?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Nay, not far,’ quoth Gilbert. A little while after they caught a glimpse of the smoking roofs of the town lying down in the hollow, and with that they heard the first merry peal of Easter bells chiming up over the snow. ‘Jesus be praised,’ cried Meg faintly. ‘Hold fast, good Meg,’ panted Hob. ‘We shall win through at last. Holy Virgin, how I sweat.’ Then they saw the Town Church itself and the people streaming through the porch. ‘Jesus, Jesus, for but a little while longer,’ murmured Meg. Gilbert and Hob hastened their toilsome steps. So at last they came to the Church and, the folk courteously making way for them, they bore her to a stool by the rood-screen.