Mrs. Sandford got up very early next morning, some time before it was daylight. She had scarcely slept all night. As quiet as a little ghost, not to wake her husband, she had stolen upstairs after dismissing John to bed: and she stole out of her room as softly in the morning, her heart rent with trouble and fear. It was her habit to go out early in the summer mornings to look after the garden, to collect the eggs from the poultry-yard, to gather her posies with the dew upon them, which was an old-fashioned way she had. But in winter the old lady was not so brave, and feared the cold as the least courageous will do. Notwithstanding, it was still dark when she stole out, unseen as she fondly hoped, by Sarah in the kitchen. The darkness of the night was just beginning to yield to the grey unwilling daylight. The milkman was going his rounds. Some late people, not the labourers, who were off to their work long ago in the darkness, were coming out very cold to their occupations: the shop had still a smoky paraffin-lamp lighted, and there was one of the same description shining through the open door of the ‘Green Man.’ Except for these points of light, all was grim and grey in the village. The sky widened and cleared minute by minute. It did not grow bright, but slowly cleared. Mrs. Sandford had a thick veil over her face, but everybody knew her. To attempt to hide herself was vain. She had taken a basket in her hand to give herself a countenance. It was a basket which was well known. It carried many a little comfort to sick people and those who were very poor. The sight of the little slim old lady with her fair, fresh face and white hair, her trim black-silk gown, and warm wadded cloak, and the basket in her hand, was very familiar to the people in Edgeley. But she was seldom out so early, and her steps were a little uncertain, not quick and light as usual. You could generally see, to look at her, that she was very sure where she was going and knew every step of the way. This morning she went up past the ‘Green Man,’ so that the milkman, who was a great gossip, said to himself, ‘I know! She’s going to that tramp as was took bad last night in Feather Lane.’ But when he had gone on his round a little further and saw her coming back again, his confidence was shaken. ‘It must be old Molly Pidgeon she’s looking for--and most like don’t know as she’s moved.’ But, when Mrs. Sandford crossed the street, this observer was altogether at fault. ‘There’s nobody as is ill that a-way,’ he said to the customer whom he was serving. ‘Whatever is Mrs. Sandford doing out with her basket at this time in the morning, and no sickness to speak of about?’ The woman standing at her door with the jug in her hand for the milk leaned out too, and stared. ‘There’s a deal of children with colds, and old folks,’ she said.