f your body."

With an immense effort she opened her eyes, and saw the Frau standing
by, the baby bundled under one arm. The three other children who shared
the same bed with the Child-Who-Was-Tired, accustomed to brawls, slept
on peacefully. In a corner of the room the Man was fastening his braces.

"What do you mean by sleeping like this the whole night through--like a
sack of potatoes? You've let the baby wet his bed twice."

She did not answer, but tied her petticoat string, and buttoned on her
plaid frock with cold, shaking fingers.

"There, that's enough. Take the baby into the kitchen with you, and heat
that cold coffee on the spirit lamp for the master, and give him the
loaf of black bread out of the table drawer. Don't guzzle it yourself or
I'll know."

The Frau staggered across the room, flung herself on to her bed, drawing
the pink bolster round her shoulders.

It was almost dark in the kitchen. She laid the baby on the wooden
settle, covering him with a shawl, then poured the coffee from the
earthenware jug into the saucepan, and set it on the spirit lamp to
boil.

"I'm sleepy," nodded the Child-Who-Was-Tired, kneeling on the floor
and splitting the damp pine logs into little chips. "That's why I'm not
awake."

The oven took a long time to light. Perhaps it was cold, like herself,
and sleepy... Perhaps it had been dreaming of a little white road with
black trees on either side, a little road that led to nowhere.

Then the door was pulled violently open and the Man strode in.

"Here, what are you doing, sitting on the floor?" he shouted. "Give me
my coffee. I've got to be off. Ugh! You haven't even washed over the
table."

She sprang to her feet, poured his coffee into an enamel cup, and gave
him bread and a knife, then, taking a wash rag from the sink, smeared
over the black linoleumed table.

"Swine of a day--swine's life," mumbled the Man, sitting by the table
and staring out of the window at the bruised sky, which seemed to bulge
heavily over the dull land. He stuffed his mouth with bread and then
swilled it down with the coffee.

The Child drew a pail of water, turned up her sleeves, frowning the
while at her arms, as if to scold them for being so thin, so much like
little stunted twigs, and began to mop over the floor.

"Stop sousing about the water while I'm here," grumbled the Man. "Stop
the baby snivelling; it's been going on like that all night."

The Child gathered the baby into