"Bless yer 'art, master, ye makes a body comf'terble. Ven hi smokes, hi feels
more hat 'ome and kind o'contented like. An hold 'ooman like me haint got
much left to comfort 'er but 'er pipe."

"Jane!" called Mrs. Mumpson sharply from the parlor. As there was no answer,
the widow soon appeared in the kitchen door. Smoking was one of the
unpardonable sins in Mrs. Mumpson's eyes; and when she saw Mrs. Wiggins
puffing comfortably away and Holcroft lighting his pipe, while Jane cleared
the table, language almost failed her. She managed to articulate, "Jane, this
atmosphere is not fit for you to breathe on this sacred day. I wish you to
share my seclusion."

"Mrs. Mumpson, I have told her to help Mrs. Wiggins in the necessary work,"
Holcroft interposed.

"Mr. Holcroft, you don't realize--men never do--Jane is my offspring, and--"

"Oh, if you put it that way, I shan't interfere between mother and child. But
I suppose you and Jane came here to work."

"If you will enter the parlor, I will explain to you fully my views, and--"

"Oh, please excuse me!" said Holcroft, hastily passing out. "I was just
starting for a walk--I'm bound to have one more day to myself on the old
place," he muttered as he bent his steps toward an upland pasture.

Jane, seeing that her mother was about to pounce upon her, ran behind Mrs.
Wiggins, who slowly rose and began a progress toward the irate widow,
remarking as she did so, "Hi'll just shut the door 'twixt ye and yer