The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark hair, was sewing a child's frock.

She put this aside, rose, and began to take her husband's dinner from the oven.
"You stopped confabbing long enough tonight," she said.
"Yes," he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner.

The doors were shut close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines under the house made the doors not fit.

Aaron moved his chair, to get out of the draught.

But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years old.