carries nought. He doesn't hold with a man carrying things."

Patsy said nothing. What was the matter with him that he felt such a
pain of pity and such a rage of anger? He had felt the like before for
an ill-treated animal. Ill-treated humans had not often entered his
experience, since he lived so much to himself.

He went to the gate leading to the back avenue and looked out. Hidden
by the gate-post were a number of pots and pans and bright glittering
new cans. A little away lay another heap. He stooped. There was a
contrivance, something like a yoke for the shoulders, to which the cans
were attached. He had seen, also in England, gipsy carts covered with
such wares. He had not known that human shoulders could be adapted to
this burden.

"God help ye," he said, coming back. "'Tis too much for you, let alone
the child. The polis should see to it."

"He takes the load from the boy before we come to a village," she said,
nodding her head the way the man had gone.

It was wonderful to see how quickly and deftly the woman set out the
tea-things, made the tea, using much less than Patsy's liberal
allowance, and cut bread and butter. Patsy found a few new-laid eggs
and put them on to boil. The child sat in the shade: Patsy had found
him a chair, made of ropes of straw, to rest on instead of the cold
stone. He sat in a relaxed way as though all his muscles were limp,
taking no heed of the dog that sniffed about him. Dead-tired, Patsy
thought, and loathed the muscular ruffian who went free while a child
and a woman bore the burdens.

It was pretty to see the woman coaxing the child to eat, forgetting
herself. Patsy looked about the familiar place and saw it strange with
an appearance of domesticity. The creature was very gentle, he said to
himself, and she was decent. Her poor clothes were tidy, and the boy's
likewise. Their boots caused a queer pang in Patsy's heart. They were
disgraceful boots, bulging at the sides, broken: he had noticed that
the boy shuffled as he walked.

The woman sat holding her tea-cup in her hand, looking around the yard.
Patsy's house had a little yard to itself off the stable-yard proper.
In the middle was a bed in which there was a rose-tree with pinks and
pansies growing about its roots, Patsy's garden, of which he was very
proud.

"It's a nice little spot you have here," she said, with a sigh. The
canary, which hung by the door in a cage, sent out a hard bright runl