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Wernham knocked one of the boys on the shoulder. He began to scrape to his feet, chewing largely. 'I believe he's in top stable, said another face from the table. 'Ah! No, don't get up. I'm going myself, said Isabel. 'Don't you go out of a dirty night like this. Let the lad go. Get along wi' ye, boy, said Mrs. Wernham. 'No, no, said Isabel, with a decision that was always obeyed.
Then she reviewed books for a Scottish newspaper, carrying on her old interest, and he occupied himself a good deal with the farm. Sightless, he could still discuss everything with Wernham, and he could also do a good deal of work about the place menial work, it is true, but it gave him satisfaction. He milked the cows, carried in the pails, turned the separator, attended to the pigs and horses.
It seems late when darkness falls so early, said Isabel. 'It do, that it do. Bother the days, that they draw in so, answered Mrs. Wernham. Proper miserable! 'They are, said Isabel, withdrawing. She pulled on her overshoes, wrapped a large tartan shawl around her, put on a man's felt hat, and ventured out along the causeways of the first yard. It was very dark.
At length Maurice rose restlessly, a big, obtrusive figure. He felt tight and hampered. He wanted to go away. 'Do you mind, he said, 'if I go and speak to Wernham? 'No go along, dear, said Isabel. And he went out. A silence came over the two friends. At length Bertie said: 'Nevertheless, it is a great deprivation, Cissie. 'It is, Bertie. I know it is.
'Go on with your tea, Tom. I'd like to go across to the stable, Mrs. Wernham. 'Did ever you hear tell! exclaimed the woman. 'Isn't the trap late? asked Isabel. 'Why, no, said Mrs. Wernham, peering into the distance at the tall, dim clock. 'No, Madam we can give it another quarter or twenty minutes yet, good yes, every bit of a quarter. 'Ah!
Ruddy faces, ruddy hands holding food, red mouths working, heads bent over the tea-cups: men, land-girls, boys: it was tea-time, feeding-time. Some faces caught sight of her. Mrs. Wernham, going round behind the chairs with a large black teapot, halting slightly in her walk, was not aware of her for a moment. Then she turned suddenly. 'Oh, is it Madam! she exclaimed. 'Come in, then, come in!
At last, as he opened the upper door of a sort of intermediate barn, he heard a grinding noise, and looking in, holding up his lantern, saw Maurice, in his shirt-sleeves, standing listening, holding the handle of a turnip-pulper. He had been pulping sweet roots, a pile of which lay dimly heaped in a corner behind him. 'That you, Wernham? said Maurice, listening. 'No, it's me, said Bertie.
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