That afternoon, having snatched a moment from her work of setting Wastralls in the pious order which a death and consequent funeral demand, to run home, Mrs. Tom found Hember kitchen deserted by all but Gray. The range was open and on a stool by the dull fire—a stool usually appropriated by Smut the old black and white cat—sat the young girl. She was, of course, in black; but the dress, not having been worn for some time, was a little tight. The promise of Gray’s frame was womanly and as she sat, huddled on the low stool, she looked not only unhappy, but uncomfortable. The mother, appraising the woe-begone face and uneasy figure, saw that here also was work for her. Aunt Louisa could alter the dress but it was for Mrs. Tom to comfort this little heart which in all its eighteen years had had no greater grief than the loss of Smut’s frequent kittens. "My dear," she said and hung her purple knitted bonnet behind the door, thereby giving a pleasant air of permanency to her visit. "Where’s the childern to?" "They’m with dad." "And Richbell?" "Gone up to Shoppe for some black ribbon." "She needn’t have troubled to do that," said Mrs. Tom, with a lack of her usual perspicacity, "there’s plenty down to Wastralls." Gray’s little tear-blurred face showed a faint lightening, as of a thinning in the rain-cloud. "I heard them telling," she said tentatively, "that Art Brenton is home." "Art?" said Mrs. Tom severely. "’Im an’ Percy ’Olman’s a pretty pair. I should think the maid ’ud ’av somethin’ else to do ’stead of gaddin’ round the lanes!" Gray knew her mother’s opinion of Richbell’s various admirers. "I wouldn’t worry my head about her," she said, a touch of sympathy in her voice. "I don’t believe she means to have any one of them. She’s only just amusing herself and, when the time comes, she’ll know better." "Let’s ’ope she will." Mrs. Tom had not found that young people showed a greater wisdom than their forbears with regard to matrimony. "Please God she won’t do so silly as yer auntie did, turn up ’er nose on all the chaps round ’ere and marry a stranger that she don’t know nothing ’tall about." "Poor auntie after all!" The tears welled up till Gray’s dark eyes were shining stars. Mrs. Tom changed the subject. "I’m pretty and glad you’re back, my dear. ’Ow did Mrs. Andrew treat yer?" "Oh, she treated me as if I was one of ’er own," but Gray’s tones were flat. With Aunt Sabina newly dead what did it matter how old Mrs. Andrew had treated her? "She’d have liked for us to stop altogether." "Well," said the mother, but with a little knit of perplexity between the brows, "you might do worse’n that. Still—I wish Gentle Jane was a little farther away from Wastralls." Gray had no difficulty in following the trend of her mother’s thoughts. "I don’t think Uncle Leadville ’ud bother to come over there," she said, adding, as if struck by a fresh idea, "I suppose he knows?"