Closing the front door behind him the weaver led the girl through the
kitchen, where his three young children were playing at cat's cradle,
into the adjoining bedroom. Here he left her to herself, and,
re-entering the kitchen, got ready a meal of tea and buttered oat-cake,
which he sent in to Mary Whittaker by the hands of his eldest child, a
girl of seven. Then, without further intrusion on the girl's privacy, he
climbed the rickety staircase to the upper chamber and set to work at
his loom. Eager to make up for the time he had lost, he worked with
energy, but every sound from the rooms below came up through the cracks
in the raftered floor. He could hear the voices of the children and,
when the loom was silent for a few moments, the half-suppressed sobs of
the outraged girl were distinctly audible. These drew tears to his eyes,
but he wisely refrained from descending the staircase and attempting to
comfort her.

After a time the sobbing ceased, and then one by one the children stole
quietly into the bedroom, and a hum of conversation was heard, in which
Mary Whittaker was taking her part.

"Arta baan to stop wi' us?" he heard his eldest girl, Annie, ask.

"I don't know," Mary replied. "Happen I'll be goin' back home to-morn."

"I wish thou'd coom an' live wi' us an' mind Jimmy, so as I can help
father wi' t' loom," Annie continued.

"Aye, an' thou can laik at cat's cradle wi' me," interposed the younger
girl, Ruth.