"Why, to bring this ’ome in." She put her hands to the sides of the trolly and sat erect, a smiling cheerful woman. Her face, though pale from the long confinement, had lost its lines, was indeed showing a tendency to over-fullness and she looked older, but she was herself again. "If I didn’t I should ’av to lie down an’ I don’t want to do that. I want to sit up and see all there is to be seen. Besides I want for the people to see I’m able to get about again, if I be a cripple." Mrs. Tom perceived that Sabina meant to celebrate her recovery by a triumphal return. "Well, my dear, I’ll tell Leadville to send in the cart for ’ee." "This ’ere thing do run so smooth as a die," said Sabina, returning to her happy absorption in the trolly. "You’d never believe ’ow easy I can get about in it," and she began, with her strong, illness-whitened hands, to turn the wheels. "Will it go uphill?" said the other, after observing with interest the paces of this new steed. Sabina’s face fell. "Lorrd bless me, I never thought o’ that!" "’Owever will you manage?" Only the shelf on which Wastralls—house, yard and garden—stood, was flat. "I..." Sabina hesitated. The brightness had died cut of her face. "I don’t know if Leadville will carry out my wishes or no." "Well, you can ’ardly expect ’un to." "I dun’t see why ’e shouldn’t. ’Tis my land, why shouldn’t ’e do as I want for’n to do?" "’Cos ’e’s so obstinate in ’is way as you are in yours." "My dear life, I bain’t obstinate. ’Ow can ’ee say so? I only do same as my father and granfer did. I’m sure they wouldn’t like for me to alter it." "No, I don’t ’spose they would," said Mrs. Tom, "still..." Sabina was troubled, but not on account of Isolda’s mistaken view of her character. That she had already forgotten. "Well, I’ve got th’ old George Biddick. I’m sure ’e’ll do what I want for’n to do, if Leadville won’t." "Still that isn’t like seein’ for yerself." "I shall ’av to take the chance of that," but she did not seem happy about it. She mused with knit brow for some seconds, then changed the subject. "Isolda, I’d like for Mrs. Bate to put my bed up in the big room." This—the old Justice Room—occupied one end of the house. For many years it had been used as a storeroom, but underneath dust and litter lay evidence, in painted panelling and marble mantelpiece, of former state. "’Tis a proper old lumber-shop," said Mrs. Tom, "but that doesn’t matter." "You see," explained Sabina, "I can’t go overstairs." "I wonder ’ow Leadville’ll like sleepin’ on the ground floor?" "Well, he must like it or lump it." She spoke with the confidence of one whose marriage had been a success. "We’ll get the room to rights for yer." "And Isolda, I don’t want to keep on Mrs. Bate, nor I don’t want her Jenifer nor her Janey." "’Ow’ll ’ee manage then?" "I want some one of my own flesh and blood. I should love to ’av one of your li’l maids. Why couldn’t I ’av Gray? We’ve always ’greed like chickens."