He could almost tell whose the cabins were where they shone.

The scene inside rose to the imagination.

A man with ragged clothes and a half-empty pipe is squeezed into the stone nook beside the blazing turf.

The kettle, hanging from its hook, swings steaming beside him.

The woman of the house, barefooted, sluttish, in torn crimson petticoat and gray bodice pinned across her breast, moves the red cinders from the lid of the pot-oven and peers at the browning cake within.