willing now to have a change. She too was
tired of Cossethay. The house was too small for the growing
children. And since she was nearly forty years old, she began to
come awake from her sleep of motherhood, her energy moved more
outwards. The din of growing lives roused her from her apathy.
She too must have her hand in making life. She was quite ready
to move, taking all her brood. It would be better now if she
transplanted them. For she had borne her last child, it would be
growing up.

So that in her easy, unused fashion she talked plans and
arrangements with her husband, indifferent really as to the
method of the change, since a change was coming; even if it did
not come in this way it would come in another.

The house was full of ferment. Ursula was wild with
excitement. At last her father was going to be something,
socially. So long, he had been a social cypher, without form or
standing. Now he was going to be Art and Handwork Instructor for
the County of Nottingham. That was really a status. It was a
position. He would be a specialist in his way. And he was an
uncommon man. Ursula felt they were all getting a foothold at
last. He was coming to his own. Who else that she knew could
turn out from his own fingers the beautiful things her father
could produce? She felt he was certain of this new job.

They would move. They would leave this cottage at Cossethay
which had grown too small for them; they would leave Cossethay,
where the children had all been born, and where they were always
kept to the same measure. For the people who had known them as
children along with the other village boys and girls would
never, could never understand that they should grow up
different. They had held "Urtler Brangwen" one of themselves,
and had given her her place in her native village, as in a
family. And the bond was strong. But now, when she was growing
to something beyond what Cossethay would allow or understand,
the bond between her and her old associates was becoming a
bondage.

"'Ello, Urs'ler, 'ow are yer goin' on?" they said when they
met her. And it demanded of her in the old voice the old
response. And something in her must respond and belong to people
who knew her. But something else denied bitterly. What was true
of her ten years ago was not true now. And something else which
she was, and must be, they could neither see nor allow. They
felt it there nevertheless, something beyond them, and they were
injured.