starved fragment of ancient hedge is usually taken advantage of in the
erection of these forlorn dwellings. But, in the present case, such a
kind of shelter had been disregarded. Higher Crowstairs, as the house
was called, stood quite detached and undefended. The only reason for its
precise situation seemed to be the crossing of two footpaths at right
angles hard by, which may have crossed there and thus for a good five
hundred years. Hence the house was exposed to the elements on all sides.
But, though the wind up here blew unmistakably when it did blow, and the
rain hit hard whenever it fell, the various weathers of the winter season
were not quite so formidable on the coomb as they were imagined to be by
dwellers on low ground. The raw rimes were not so pernicious as in the
hollows, and the frosts were scarcely so severe. When the shepherd and
his family who tenanted the house were pitied for their sufferings from
the exposure, they said that upon the whole they were less inconvenienced
by 'wuzzes and flames' (hoarses and phlegms) than when they had lived by
the stream of a snug neighbouring valley.

The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the nights that were
wont to call forth these expressions of commiseration. The level
rainstorm smote walls, slopes, and hedges like the clothyard shafts of
Senlac and Crecy. Such sheep and outdoor animals as had no shelter stood
with their buttocks to the winds; while the tails of little birds trying
to roost on some scraggy thorn were blown inside-out like umbrellas. The
gable-end of the cottage was stained with wet, and the eavesdroppings
flapped against the wall. Yet never was commiseration for the shepherd
more misplaced. For that cheerful rustic was entertaining a large party
in glorification of the christening of his second girl.

The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, and they were all
now assembled in the chief or living room of the dwelling. A glance into