'But you do. You have needed me. When your wife was ill, and your hussy of a maid had run away――did you not send for me? Did I hesitate to go to you? I left then my huckstering that I might be useful in your house. That was the hour of your need. Now it is mine. Did I not at that time do my work well? Perhaps over well. Your wife said I had scrubbed the surface off the table and rubbed into holes the clothes I washed. Anyhow I did naught by halves. And your drones, they guzzle and sleep, and when you are in straits――there is sickness, disaster――then they run away. Take me and Winefred.' 'My dear Mrs. Marley, it is of no avail your persisting to thrust yourself on us. You can't stable more horses than you have stalls. I have no vacancy.' 'Your missus has turned away Louie Herne.' 'And has engaged one in her place.' 'Then give us leave to sleep in your barn, and I'll work in the fields for you, hoeing, weeding, gathering up stones――ay, better than can a man.' 'No, thank you. I do not care to have my barn burnt down. You have too much fire in you to be safe among straw.' The woman quivered with disappointment and rage. Erect, with rigid arms and stiff neck, she flared out: 'Ay! I could tear down your stacks, or fire them. I am "Dear Jane Marley" when _you_ need me. "Out, you vagabond," when _I_ am in need.' 'If you dared do what you threaten,' said the farmer, suddenly becoming harsh in tone and manner, 'into prison you should go, and then, indeed, your Winefred would be a vagabond, and all through you.' The woman shut her mouth, but sparks scintillated in her eyes. 'Mother, let us go elsewhere,' said the girl and endeavoured to draw her mother away. 'Not yet,' answered the woman impatiently. 'Do you not know, Moses Nethersole, that I and my Winefred are homeless? My cottage has gone to pieces, and the whole cliff is crumbling away. The wall is down already, and the lime-ash floor is buckled up and splitting. No one now may go nigh the place. It needs but the hopping of a wagtail to send the whole bag of tricks into the sea. And you――you have the heart to deny us shelter and bread, and work whereby to earn both.' 'Bread you shall have and a cup of milk.' 'I will have neither as an alms. I ask no charity. I desire to work for my meat and for my housing. Have I not done so like an honest woman hitherto? Would you make a beggar of me? Give me work, I ask. I seek nothing more.' 'Mother, come away,' pleaded the girl. 'I will,' said the woman curtly, and turned round with an abrupt action. Then suddenly she stooped, stripped off her shoes, and, running forward as the farmer backed, she beat the soles against the doorposts.