women, the children, were they too to grow up, and grow
old like these--the same smiling, stunted, ignobly submissive creatures?
One woman at least would do her best with her one poor life to rouse
some of them to discontent and revolt!

CHAPTER IX.

The fire sank, and Mrs. Hurd made no haste to light her lamp. Soon the
old people were dim chattering shapes in a red darkness. Mrs. Hurd still
plaited, silent and upright, lifting her head every now and then at each
sound upon the road.

At last there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hurd ran to open it.

"Mother, I'm going your way," said a strident voice. "I'll help you home
if you've a mind."

On the threshold stood Mrs. Jellison's daughter, Mrs. Westall, with her
little boy beside her, the woman's broad shoulders and harsh striking
head standing out against the pale sky behind. Marcella noticed that she
greeted none of the old people, nor they her. And as for Mrs. Hurd, as
soon as she saw the keeper's wife, she turned her back abruptly on her
visitor, and walked to the other end of the kitchen.

"Are you comin', mother?" repeated Isabella.

Mrs. Jellison grumbled, gibed at her, and made long leave-takings, while
the daughter stood silent, waiting, and every now and then peering at
Marcella, who had never seen her before.

"I don' know where yur manners is," said Mrs. Jellison sharply to her,
as though she had been a child of ten, "that you don't say good evenin'
to the young lady."

Mrs. Westall curtsied low, and hoped she might be excused, as it had
grown so dark. Her tone was smooth and servile, and Marcella disliked
her as she shook hands with her.

The other old people, including Mrs. Brunt, departed a minute or two
after the mother and daughter, and Marcella was left an instant with
Mrs. Hurd.

"Oh, thank you, thank you kindly, miss," said Mrs. Hurd, raising her
apron to her eyes to staunch some irrepressible tears, as Marcella
showed her the advertisement which it might possibly be worth Hurd's
while to answer. "He'll try, you may be sure. But I can't think as how
anythink 'ull come ov it."

And then suddenly, as though something unexplained had upset her
self-control, the poor patient creature utterly broke down. Leaning
against the bare shelves which held their few pots and pans, she threw
her apron over her head and burst into the forlornest weeping. "I wish I
was dead; I wish I was dead, an' the chillen too!"

Marcella hung over her, one