At the end of two fields' length she stayed by the pasture-gate and rattled her can loudly. Two cows, gigantic against the sun, came slowly to the gate. She tied their tails in turn, and settled on her stool beside the dripping hedge. When her pail was full and frothing she set them free, and with a flick of her apron sent them from the gate, which she opened, setting her can down while she tied the hatch. Then she returned over the two fields with the full and heavy can. The pony snickered as she came into the yard, and the hens ran in a foolish crowd across her way. She scattered them as she went, setting down her burden within the dairy. She overturned the stale buttermilk into the pig's trough, fed the hens, and drove the pony into lane, throwing stones and tufts of grass after it until she saw it turn into the open gate of the paddock. It would be joined soon by others, and the boy who brought them would shut the gate. Then she scalded the churn anew, filled it, and settled to the slow turning which was to occupy the greater part of her morning. The churning became heavier and heavier. She raised the lid to scrape the butter from its sides, and as she did so heard footsteps coming across the yard, footsteps a little unusual in sound, each seeming to be taken very deliberately, and going straight forward without discrimination of the path. "Here's Mary!" said Anne Hilton aloud, turning towards the door and moving a chair. A woman of about forty-three, with a basket on one arm and walking with a strong stick, came steadily towards the door. She would have been comely if it had not been for a fixed frown which seemed odd on her pleasant, good-tempered face. She wore a print bodice, with a point back and front, and a short bunchy stuff skirt. Though Sarah was well in sight she took no notice of her, but walked straight on towards her, until the latter said with evident pleasure-- "It's you, Mary!" "Yes!" answered Mary, with a slight start. "How are you?" "Quite well," said Sarah. "Here's the door." She laid her hand over that of the other woman and set it on the side of the post, at the same time taking her basket, which was full of eggs, and only partially covered by a cloth. "How many?" she asked. "Have you counted?" "Four dozen," replied Mary. "Have you finished your butter?" "It's coming," said Anne, taking the handle again. "Let _me_ try," said Mary. "I often think I could manage butter nicely." "Don't get too clever," said Anne. "You do a wonderful lot already. Stop and sit a bit, won't you? Let me see if you know where your chair is." The woman stepped into the dairy, turned to the left of the door, and sat down without hesitation in the chair which Sarah had moved on first perceiving her approach, and as she did so one could see that the frown, so out of place on her steady and tranquil face, had an origin of tragedy. She was blind. CHAPTER V