“Would ta drag ’er from me!—if tha goos, ma wench, tha enters this ’ouse no more, tha ’eers that! Tha does thysen my lady! Dunna venture anigh me after this, my gel!”—the old woman called louder and louder. George appeared in the doorway, holding Meg by the arm. She was crying in a little distress. Her hat with its large silk roses, was slanting over her eyes. She was dressed in white linen. They mounted the trap. I gave him the reins and scrambled up behind. The old woman heard us through the open window, and we listened to her calling as we drove away: “Dunna let me clap eyes on thee again, tha ungrateful ’ussy, tha ungrateful ’ussy! Tha’ll rue it, my wench, tha’ll rue it, an’ then dunna come ter me——” We drove out of hearing. George sat with a shut mouth, scowling. Meg wept awhile to herself woefully. We were swinging at a good pace under the beeches of the churchyard which stood above the level of the road. Meg, having settled her hat, bent her head to the wind, too much occupied with her attire to weep. We swung round the hollow by the bog end, and rattled a short distance up the steep hill to Watnall. Then the mare walked slowly. Meg, at leisure to collect herself, exclaimed plaintively: “Oh, I’ve only got one glove!” She looked at the odd silk glove that lay in her lap, then peered about among her skirts. “I must ’a left it in th’ bedroom,” she said piteously. He laughed, and his anger suddenly vanished. “What does it matter? You’ll do without all right.” At the sound of his voice, she recollected, and her tears and her weeping returned. “Nay,” he said, “don’t fret about the old woman. She’ll come round to-morrow—an’ if she doesn’t, it’s her lookout. She’s got Polly to attend to her.” “But she’ll be that miserable——!” wept Meg. “It’s her own fault. At any rate, don’t let it make you miserable”—he glanced to see if anyone were in sight, then he put his arm round her waist and kissed her, saying softly, coaxingly: “She’ll be all right to-morrow. We’ll go an’ see her then, an’ she’ll be glad enough to have us. We’ll give in to her then, poor old Gran’ma. She can boss you about, an’ me as well, tomorrow as much as she likes. She feels it hard, being tied to her bed. But to-day is ours, surely—isn’t it? To-day is ours, an’ you’re not sorry, are you?” “But I’ve got no gloves, an’ I’m sure my hair’s a sight. I never thought she could ’a reached up like that.” George laughed, tickled. “No,” he said, “she _was_ in a temper. But we can get you some gloves directly we get to Nottingham.” “I haven’t a farthing of money,” she said. “I’ve plenty!” he laughed. “Oh, an’ let’s try this on.”