table, that held the candle, had a meal spread upon it, and also some
open dog's-eared primers, at which small children were spelling audibly.

When the conference, which had taken place near the door, was over, the
wife went back to her children and her lighted table, and Trenholme made
as if to open the door, supposing that Turrif would walk away with him.

"Eh--_non,"_ said the older man, with a kindly smile. _"Pas encore,"_
and taking Trenholme by the arm, he pushed him gently towards the table.
"I weel get out my 'orse," said he, in slow, broken English. "You have
had enough walking to-day, and I have had enough work. _À
présent"_--with a gesture toward the table.

He made Trenholme sit down at the table. There was a very large pan of
thick sour milk on it, and a loaf of grey bread. Bits of this bread were
set round the edge of the table, near the children, who munched at them.

Turrif gave Trenholme a bit of bread, cutting into the loaf as men only
do in whose lives bread is not scarce. With a large spoon he took a
quantity of the thick rich cream from the top of the milk and put a
saucer of it before the visitor. Trenholme ate it with his bread, and
found it not as sour as he expected, and on the whole very good. Turrif,
eating bread as he went, carried the harness out of the house.

As there was no one left for him to talk to, Trenholme grew more
observant. He remarked the sweetness and sense in the face of the
house-mother as she bestowed their suppers upon the children. She was
still comparatively young, but there was no beauty of youth about her,
only the appearance of strength that is produced by toil and endurance
before these two have worn the strength away. But, in spite of this look