For ten seconds and more neither the man nor the woman gave a sign of
having heard him. The spring-cart's oscillatory motion seemed to have
entered into their spinal joints; and now that they had come to
a halt, their heads continued to wag forward and back as they
contemplated the haze of smoke spread, like a blue scarf over the
town, and the one long slate roof that rose from it as if to meet
them. At length the old woman spoke, and with some viciousness, though
her face remained as blank as the Workhouse door.

"The next time I go back up this hill, if ever I do, I'll be carried
up feet first."

"Maria," said her husband, feebly reproachful, "you tempt the Lord,
that you do."

"Thank 'ee, Farmer Lear," she went on, paying no heed; "you shall
help us down, if you've a mind to, an' drive on. We'll make shift to
trickly 'way down so far as the gate; for I'd be main vexed if anybody
that had known me in life should see us creep in. Come along, Jan."

Farmer Lear alighted, and helped them out carefully. He was a clumsy
man, but did his best to handle them gently. When they were set on
their feet, side by side on the high road, he climbed back, and fell
to arranging the reins, while he cast about for something to say.

"Well, folks, I s'pose I must be wishing 'ee good-bye." He meant
to speak cheerfully, but over-acted, and was hilarious instead.
Recognising this, he blushed.

"We'll meet in heaven, I daresay," the woman answered. "I put