pinions, and always having been obliged to hold her
imagination within the visible realities of life and death, with which
all her life had been concerned, she had arrived at a definiteness of
judgment, and an honesty of speech which one frequently finds among
women of her class out of reach of poverty, but not beyond the necessity
of work. Her husband was not a country man, but had come from a town
florist's to work with a nurseryman about two miles distant. She began
to tell Anne Hilton how they had first come to the country.

"There was _my_ mother first and then _his_, both at us. First _one_
said, 'You don't know what it is to live in the country, you that have
been used to going about under the gas-lamps at night'; and then the
_other_, 'You don't know what it is to be shut in to the lamp at night
and have no one but your two selves to look at.' It was always the same.
'You don't know what it is,' or 'You'll be lonely.' And Thomas and I
always said the same thing back. 'Well,' we said, 'we can but try.'
Well, we _did_ try, and we found that cottage up Somer's Lane, and when
I came with him the first day I began to think, what if my mother was
right. It was so silent as if something was going to happen. I kept
looking out of the window to see if it was, but nothing did, and the
next morning his mother came down with the bedding and the five children
we had then, and I've never felt lonely since. Nine children, all
living, keep you on your feet."

"Be thankful they've all turned out well," said Anne, with a sigh,
thinking of the house she had left.

"Trust 'em! that's what _I_ say," returned Mrs Crowther. "Plenty of
good, plain food, and plenty of good, warm, woollen underclothing, and
there'll not go much wrong with their bodies, and trust 'em for their
characters. I was talking to Mrs Hankworth the other day--she's done
better than me, she's had twelve--'I never was one for much whipping,'
she said. 'I never found you did much good by it. You can break the
spirit of a horse by whipping, but you can't change its character. Give
'em all plenty of occupation at home, and they'll not want to go out in
the evenings.' I was glad to hear her say so, for I've always felt like
that myself. There was Ted had his fret-saw, and William was always one
for making collections of butterflies or birds' eggs, and John was
always one for politics. He'd sit reading any newspaper he could get
hold of, and arguing with his father. I