said Mrs. Rocliffe; "you see, how was
I to say you'd want vittles? I suppose you have had as much as is
good for you away where you come from--at the Ship. If you are
hungry--there's cold rabbit pie in the larder, if it ain't gone
bad. This weather has been bad for keepin' meat. There's bread in
the larder, if you don't mind the rats and mice havin' been at it.
That's not my fault. Jonas, he had some for his break'us, and
never covered up the pan, so the varmin have got to it. There's
ale, too, in a barrel, I know, but Jonas keeps the key to that
lest I should take a sup. He begrudges me that, and expects me
to work for him like a galley-slave."

Then the woman was silent, looking moodily down. The floor was
strewn with flakes of whitewash as though snow had fallen over it.

"You see," said Mrs. Rocliffe, "Jonas would go to the expense of
whitenin' the ceilin', just because you was comin.' It had done
plenty well for father and mother, and I don't mind any time it
were whitened afore, and I be some years the elder of Jonas. The
ceiling was that greasy wi' smoke, that the whitewashin' as it
dried 'as pealed off, and came down just about. You look up--the
ceilin' is ten times worse than afore. It looks as if it were
measly. I wouldn't sweep up the flakes as fell off just to let
Jonas see what comes of his foolishness. I told him it would be so,
but he wouldn't believe me, and now let him see for himself--there
it is."

With a sort of malignant delight the woman observed Mehetabel, and
saw how troubled and unhappy she was.

Again a stillness ensued. Mehetabel could hear her heart beat. She
could hear no other sound. She looked through the room towards
the clock. It was silent.

"Ah, now there," said Sarah Rocliffe. "There be that, to be sure.
Runned down is the weight. It wasn't proper for me now to wind up
the clock. As you be the new mistress in the house, it is your
place and dooty. I suppose you know that."

Then from without Mehetabel heard the grunts of the sow in the
stye that adjoined the house, and imparted an undesirable flavor
to the atmosphere in it.

"That's the sow in the pen," said Mrs. Rocliffe; "she's wantin'
her meat. She hain't been galliwantin', and marryin', and bein'
given in marriage. I'm not the mistress, and I've not the dooty to
provide randans and crammins for other folks' hogs. She'll be goin'
back in her flesh unless fed pretty smart. You'd best do that at
once, but not in your wedd