he'd get, an' of not bein' strong myself. But one day
I was going up a lane into Tudley End woods, an' I heard George Westall
on tother side of the hedge with a young dog he was training. Somethin'
crossed him, an' he flew into a passion with it. It turned me _sick_. I
ran away and I took against him there and then. I was frightened of him.
I duresn't trust myself, and I said to Jim I'd take him. So you can
understan', miss, can't you, as Jim don't want to have nothing to do
with Westall? Thank you kindly, all the same," she added, breaking off
her narrative with the same uncertainty of manner, the same timid
scrutiny of her visitor that Marcella had noticed before.

Marcella replied that she could certainly understand.

"But I suppose they've not got in each other's way of late years," she
said as she rose to go.

"Oh! no, miss, no," said Mrs. Hurd as she went hurriedly to fetch a fur
tippet which her visitor had laid down on the dresser.

"There is _one_ person I can speak to," said Marcella, as she put on the
wrap. "And I will." Against her will she reddened a little; but she had
not been able to help throwing out the promise. "And now, you won't
despair, will you? You'll trust me? I could always do something."

She took Mrs. Hurd's hand with a sweet look and gesture. Standing there
in her tall vigorous youth, her furs wrapped about her, she had the air
of protecting and guiding this poverty that could not help itself. The
mother and wife felt herself shy, intimidated. The tears came back to
her brown eyes.

* * * * *

When Miss Boyce had gone, Minta Hurd went to the fire and put it
together, sighing all the time, her face still red and miserable.

The door opened and her husband came in. He carried some potatoes in his
great earth-stained hands.

"You're goin' to put that bit of hare on? Well, mak' eeaste, do, for I'm
starvin'. What did she want to stay all that time for? You go and get
it. I'll blow the fire up--damn these sticks!--they're as wet as Dugnall
pond."

Nevertheless, as she sadly came and went, preparing the supper, she saw
that he was appeased, in a better temper than before.

"What did you tell 'er?" he asked abruptly.

"What do you spose I'd tell her? I acted for the best. I'm always
thinkin' for you!" she said as though with a little cry, "or we'd soon
be in trouble--worse trouble than we are!" she added miserably.

He stopped working the old bellows fo