Jimmy, aged three, was silent, but he climbed into Mary's lap, and, with
a grimy finger, made watercourses down her cheeks for the tears that
still filled her eyes.

"Give ower, Jimmy, or I'll warm thy jacket," exclaimed Annie, fearful
lest the boy should hurt Mary's feelings.

"Nay, let him be," replied Mary, and wiping the tears from her face she
drew Jimmy closer to herself and mothered him.

A hole in one of the rafters, caused by the dropping out of a knot in
the wood, enabled Parfitt to see something of what was going on below,
and with a sigh of relief he realised that the worst was now over and
that the children had effected what he himself could not have done. When
six o'clock came he called to Annie to bring him his tea and light his
benzoline lamp. When she appeared he gave orders that the evening meal
should be got ready in the kitchen, and that when it was over she should
ask Mary to wash Jimmy and put him to bed. Anxiously the weaver listened
to the carrying out of his instructions, and when he descended the
staircase at half-past seven he found the kitchen neatly tidied up and
Mary Whittaker seated at the fireside with the two girls on stools at
her feet. Until all the children were in bed he made no attempt to get
the girl to tell him her story, but sought by tactful means to win her
confidence. At first she shrank from him and cast anxious eyes towards
the inner room where the three children were asleep. But the weaver's
gentle voice gradually stilled her fears.

"Thou'll be tired, lass," he said at length, "and wantin' to get to bed.
Thou can sleep wi' Jimmy in yonder anent t' wall."