of land, they would have obeyed him with far greater cordiality than
they now showed to Michael. But Susan was tired with even three
rounds of knitting, and seemed not to notice, or to care, how things
went on around her; and Willie--poor Willie!--there he stood lounging
against the door-sill, enormously grown and developed, to be sure,
but with restless eyes and ever-open mouth, and every now and then
setting up a strange kind of howling cry, and then smiling vacantly
to himself at the sound he had made. As the two old labourers passed
him, they looked at each other ominously, and shook their heads.

"Willie, darling," said Susan, "don't make that noise--it makes my
head ache."

She spoke feebly, and Willie did not seem to hear; at any rate, he
continued his howl from time to time.

"Hold thy noise, wilt'a?" said Michael, roughly, as he passed near
him, and threatening him with his fist. Susan's back was turned to
the pair. The expression of Willie's face changed from vacancy to
fear, and he came shambling up to Susan, who put her arm round him,
and, as if protected by that shelter, he began making faces at
Michael. Susan saw what was going on, and, as if now first struck by
the strangeness of her brother's manner, she looked anxiously at
Michael for an explanation. Michael was irritated at Willie's
defiance of him, and did not mince the matter.

"It's just that the fever has left him silly--he never was as wise as
other folk, and now I doubt if he will ever get right."

Susan did not speak, but she went very pale, and her lip quivered.