The injured woman looked at her with weary bloodshot eyes. "I dunno. I don’t feel very special." Isolda seated herself on a cane chair facing the patient and took out her knitting. As she made not only her husband’s stockings but those of her five daughters, she had always one on hand. "What do ’ee feel like?" "My dear life, I suffer like a Turk. I’d soon be dead as livin’." Mrs. Tom’s face expressed her sympathy. "’Av ’ee got much pain?" "Yes, I ache something awful—in my legs." The other stared in surprise. "In yer legs? But you ’aven’t got any." "Well, seem like I ’av them." Mrs. Rosevear laughed. "If that doesn’t beat everything!" The sufferer moved restlessly on her pillow. "I’d rather be out on Gool-land,[*] than like I be now." [*] Gulland, a barren islet off the north coast of Cornwall. Looking at the hollows of the face once so apple-round, Isolda’s heart misgave her. "I feel," continued Mrs. Byron in a dragging voice, "that I can’t stand much more of this." "Nonsense, you’ll cheat the crows yet." "Don’t care whether I do or no. What is there for a woman like me? I’ve neither chick nor chield." "Well, there’s Leadville to think about." Sabina sighed. "He’d cut a poor shine without me; but there—I dunno..." her voice trailed away into silence. Mrs. Tom’s heart began to beat more quickly. "Well," she ventured, "he’s workin’ pretty and ’ard now." "He’s got to keep the thing going," assented the wife. "He’s doin’ more’n that." Sabina’s voice was still languid, but she showed a little interest. "What’s ah doin’ then?" "A cart come over from Wadebridge o’ Thursday piled up wi’ boxes and bags. Now just let me turn this heel." "Boxes and bags?" murmured the wife. "Good gracious! What’s ah going to do with that?" After a few seconds given to her work, Mrs. Tom looked up. "He’s teelin’ the li’l medder wi’ sugar-beet." The other’s mind, dulled by suffering and loss of blood, took time to grasp the significance of this statement. "Sugar-beet?" she said, slowly, "but I’m goin’ to ’ave the li’l medder teeled wi’ dredge-corn." "You bain’t there to give the orders." Sabina’s lips took a firmer line. "I won’t ’av it teeled wi’ that new-fangled traäde. You tell’n so." "Better tell’n yourself; I reckon—" She glanced shrewdly at her friend, for Sabina’s unexpected illness had put new thoughts into Mrs. Tom’s head. She was not greedy, but the most self-effacing creature will scheme a little for its young. "I reckon he’d do far different if you wasn’t ’ere." "You think so?" Sabina shut her eyes the better to realize the situation. The news had been stimulating, and when she spoke again her voice was stronger. "I don’t think as I’m goin’ round land this time, Isolda." "I do hope an’ pray as you aren’t, my dear soul." "What else is ah doin’?"