s sent back promptly to
her mother, and it was not long before the mother herself broke down
again, not being yet strong enough to do sick-nursing in addition to her
daily work.

It must be borne in mind that these acute and definite troubles spring
up from the surface of an ill-defined but chronic anxiety, from which
very few of the cottagers are free for any length of time. For though
there is not much extreme destitution, a large number of the villagers
live always on the brink of it; they have the fear of it always in
sight. In a later chapter I shall give some particulars as to their ways
and means; in this, I only wish it to be remembered that the question of
ways and means is a life-and-death one for the labourer and his wife,
and leaves them little peace and little hope of it. During the trade
depression which culminated in 1908-09 I was frequently made aware of
the disquiet of their minds by the scraps of talk which reached me as I
passed along the road, and were not meant for my hearing. From women who
were comparing notes with one another, this was the sort of thing one
would hear: "'En't had nothin' to do this six weeks; and don't sim no
likelihoods of it." "I s'pose we shall get through, somehow." "I'm sure
I dunno what 'tis a-comin' to." "'Tis bad 'nough now, in the summer;
what it'll be like in the winter, Gawd only knows." Again and again I
heard talk like this.

And all this was only an accentuation or a slight increase in volume of
a note of apprehension which in better times still runs less audibly as
a kind of undertone to the people's thought. I had stopped one day to
say good-morning to an old widow-woman outside her cottage. She was the
mother of that young man whose funeral was mentioned two chapters back;
but this was before his death, and while, in fact, he was still doing a
little occasional work. She spoke cheerfully, smiled even, until some
chance word of mine (I have forgotten what it was) went through the
armour of her fortitude, and she began to cry. Then she told me of the
position she was in, and the hopelessness of it, and her determination
to hold out. Some charitable lady had called upon her. "Mrs. Curtis,"
the lady had said, "if ever you are ill, I hope you'll be sure and send
to _me_." And Mrs. Curtis had replied: "Well, ma'am, if ever I sends,
you may be sure I _am_ ill." "But," she added, "they don't understand.
'Tis when you're on yer feet that help's wanted--not wait till 't