The man turned away, looking at the darkness: “The doctor says ’e’d been dead hours. ’E saw ’im i’ th’ lamp-cabin.” The old woman, who stood just behind Elizabeth, dropped into a chair, and folded her hands, crying: “Oh, my boy, my boy!” “Hush!” said Elizabeth, with a sharp twitch of a frown. “Be still, mother, don’t waken th’ children: I wouldn’t have them down for anything!” The old woman moaned softly, rocking herself. The man was drawing away. Elizabeth took a step forward. “How was it?” she asked. “Well, I couldn’t say for sure,” the man replied, very ill at ease. “’E wor finishin’ a stint an’ th’ butties ’ad gone, an’ a lot o’ stuff come down atop ’n ’im.” “And crushed him?” cried the widow, with a shudder. “No,” said the man, “it fell at th’ back of ’im. ’E wor under th’ face, an’ it niver touched ’im. It shut ’im in. It seems ’e wor smothered.” Elizabeth shrank back. She heard the old woman behind her cry: “What?—what did ’e say it was?” The man replied, more loudly: “’E wor smothered!” Then the old woman wailed aloud, and this relieved Elizabeth. “Oh, mother,” she said, putting her hand on the old woman, “don’t waken th’ children, don’t waken th’ children.” She wept a little, unknowing, while the old mother rocked herself and moaned. Elizabeth remembered that they were bringing him home, and she must be ready. “They’ll lay him in the parlour,” she said to herself, standing a moment pale and perplexed. Then she lighted a candle and went into the tiny room. The air was cold and damp, but she could not make a fire, there was no fireplace. She set down the candle and looked round. The candle-light glittered on the lustre-glasses, on the two vases that held some of the pink chrysanthemums, and on the dark mahogany. There was a cold, deathly smell of chrysanthemums in the room. Elizabeth stood looking at the flowers. She turned away, and calculated whether there would be room to lay him on the floor, between the couch and the chiffonier. She pushed the chairs aside. There would be room to lay him down and to step round him. Then she fetched the old red tablecloth, and another old cloth, spreading them down to save her bit of carpet. She shivered on leaving the parlour; so, from the dresser-drawer she took a clean shirt and put it at the fire to air. All the time her mother-in-law was rocking herself in the chair and moaning. “You’ll have to move from there, mother,” said Elizabeth. “They’ll be bringing him in. Come in the rocker.” The old mother rose mechanically, and seated herself by the fire, continuing to lament. Elizabeth went into the pantry for another candle, and there, in the little penthouse under the naked tiles, she heard them coming. She stood still in the pantry doorway, listening. She heard them pass the end of the house, and come awkwardly down the three steps, a jumble of shuffling footsteps and muttering voices. The old woman was silent. The men were in the yard.