'March weather come afore its time.

But I'll make him a treacle-posset, it's a famous thing for keeping off hoasts.' The treacle-posset was entertainment enough for both while it was being made.

But once placed in a little basin in the oven, there was again time for wonder and anxiety.
'He said nought about having a bout, did he, mother ?' asked Sylvia at length.
'No,' said Bell, her face a little contracting.

After a while she added, 'There's many a one as has husbands that goes off drinking without iver saying a word to their wives.

My master is none o' that mak'.' 'Mother,' broke in Sylvia again, 'I'll just go and get t' lantern out of t' shippen, and go up t' brow, and mebbe to t' ash-field end.' 'Do, lass,' said her mother.