Having tossed till about five o'clock, Marty heard the sparrows walking down their long holes in the thatch above her sloping ceiling to their orifice at the eaves; whereupon she also arose, and descended to the ground-floor again.
It was still dark, but she began moving about the house in those automatic initiatory acts and touches which represent among housewives the installation of another day.

While thus engaged she heard the rumbling of Mr.Melbury's wagons, and knew that there, too, the day's toil had begun.
An armful of gads thrown on the still hot embers caused them to blaze up cheerfully and bring her diminished head-gear into sudden prominence as a shadow.

At this a step approached the door.
"Are folk astir here yet ?" inquired a voice she knew well.
"Yes, Mr.Winterborne," said Marty, throwing on a tilt bonnet, which completely hid the recent ravages of the scissors.

"Come in!" The door was flung back, and there stepped in upon the mat a man not particularly young for a lover, nor particularly mature for a person of affairs.

There was reserve in his glance, and restraint upon his mouth.