“There’s promises as is best broken,” Mrs. Clapham responded, without looking at her. Never again would she willingly look at the woman who had robbed her of her adored Tibbie’s last glance. “I’d be obliged if you’d be off home, Emma Catterall,” she finished evenly. “I don’t want no truck with you any more.” “It’s yon nasty beast as has put you agen me!” Emma quivered and shrilled,—“yon drunken rattlehorn as we see lying all of a heap this afternoon. Ay, well, a nice tale it’ll be for his lordship and all the rest o’ the fools as promised her votes! There’ll be nowt for her now in the shape of a charity-house, I can promise her that!” “You’ll do nowt o’ the sort!” the charwoman stopped her with raised hand. “You’ll not mention it, d’ye hear?... Ay, and all t’ rest on you”—she addressed the huddle against the wall—“you’re none o’ you to go making talk. And as long as Emma keeps her tongue in her teeth you’re to say nowt about telegraph, neither. They could have t’ law on her, likely, if they got to know, but as long as she keeps her tongue in her head the rest on us will keep mum wi’ ours.” “Nay, but what, it’s a real shame!”—Mrs. Tanner began restively, and Emma snatched the words from her open mouth. “Ay, it’s a shame, that’s what it is; and me with my poor lad just dead in France! Ay, well, I hope it’ll be made up to you all, I do that! As for you, Ann Clapham, you’ll likely enjoy going back to your job of doing other folks’ bidding and slapping over their floors! I doubt it’ll not be long afore you find as you’ve made a mistake. What, you’re wore out now, as anybody can see—wore out ... done for ... ready for church-sod—” A perceptible shudder ran through the elder woman, but she answered bravely. “Ay, well, I can nobbut do till I drop. I shan’t be the first to die in harness, I reckon.” “I’d get t’ children then, anyway!” Emma jeered, taking, however, a step to the door. “Likely I could get ’em now, if it comes to that. I’m their grandmother, same as you.” “I’ve them letters, you’ll think on,” Mrs. Clapham replied patiently. “Letters? Ay ... so you say—!” It was Martha Jane who came to the rescue again, striding across to the door, and flinging it open with outstretched arm. “Get along out wi’ you!” she ordered, pointing contemptuously towards the street. “You’ve done your job for to-day, without ragging the old woman. We’re sick o’ the sight o’ you. Get out!”