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She folded her hands on her knees and waited, listening. Sounds of wheels and of hoofs scraping up the hill. The Morfe bus, back from Reyburn. Catty's feet, running along the passage. The front door opening, then shutting. Dan hadn't come with the bus. "Perhaps," Mamma said, "Ned Anderson'll bring him." "It was Canada that killed poor Roddy." "It won't kill Dan. He's different."
"Oh! well, we'll see about that!" said Elizabeth, as she tucked the blankets round her. "Nobody need starve in this country! Mr. Anderson'll be able perhaps to think of something. Now you go to sleep, and we'll look after your husband." Anderson joined his wife in the sitting-room, with a perplexed countenance. The man was a poor creature and the beginnings of the drink-craving were evident.
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