“When I wor a lass at th’ ’All—an’ ’im a new man come—fair a gentleman, an’ a, an’ a! An even now can read an’ talk like a gentleman—but ’e tells me nothing—Oh no—what am I in ’is eyes but a sludge bump?—’e’s above me, ’e is, an’ above ’is own childer. God a-mercy, ’e ’ll be in in a minute. Come on ’ere!” She hustled the children to bed, swept the litter into a corner, and began to lay the table. The cloth was spotless, and she put him a silver spoon in the saucer. We had only just got out of the house when he drew near. I saw his massive figure in the doorway, and the big, prolific woman moved subserviently about the room. “Hullo, Proserpine—had visitors?” “I never axed ’em—they come in ’earin’ th’ childer cryin’. I never encouraged ’em——” We hurried away into the night. “Ah, it’s always the woman bears the burden,” said Lettie bitterly. “If he’d helped her—wouldn’t she have been a fine woman now—splendid? But she’s dragged to bits. Men are brutes—and marriage just gives scope to them,” said Emily. “Oh, you wouldn’t take that as a fair sample of marriage,” replied Leslie. “Think of you and me, Minnehaha.” “Ay.” “Oh—I meant to tell you—what do you think of Greymede old vicarage for us?” “It’s a lovely old place!” exclaimed Lettie, and we passed out of hearing. We stumbled over the rough path. The moon was bright, and we stepped apprehensively on the shadows thrown from the trees, for they lay so black and substantial. Occasionally a moonbeam would trace out a suave white branch that the rabbits had gnawed quite bare in the hard winter. We came out of the woods into the full heavens. The northern sky was full of a gush of green light; in front, eclipsed Orion leaned over his bed, and the moon followed. “When the northern lights are up,” said Emily, “I feel so strange—half eerie—they do fill you with awe, don’t they?” “Yes,” said I, “they make you wonder, and look, and expect something.” “What do you expect?” she said softly, and looked up, and saw me smiling, and she looked down again, biting her lips. When we came to the parting of the roads, Emily begged them just to step into the mill—just for a moment—and Lettie consented. The kitchen window was uncurtained, and the blind, as usual, was not drawn. We peeped in through the cords of budding honeysuckle. George and Alice were sitting at the table playing chess; the mother was mending a coat, and the father, as usual, was reading. Alice was talking quietly, and George was bent on the game. His arms lay on the table. We made a noise at the door, and entered. George rose heavily, shook hands, and sat down again. “Hullo, Lettie Beardsall, you are a stranger,” said Alice. “Are you _so_ much engaged?” “Ay—we don’t see much of her nowadays,” added the father in his jovial way. “And isn’t she a toff, in her fine hat and furs and snowdrops. Look at her, George, you’ve never looked to see what a toff she is.”