CHAPTER X.MATTHA BRANTH'ET "FLYTES" THE PARSON.
The household on the Moss were early astir on the morning appointed for the funeral of Angus Ray.

Matthew Branthwaite's wife and daughter were bustling about the kitchen of the old house soon after daybreak.
Mrs.Branthwaite was a fragile little body, long past her best, with the crow's feet deeply indented about her eyes, which had the timid look of those of a rabbit, and were peculiarly appropriate to a good old creature who seemed to be constantly laboring against the idea that everything she did was done wrongly.

Her daughter Liza was a neat little thing of eighteen, with the bluest of blue eyes, the plumpest of plump cheeks, and the merriest of merry voices.

They had walked from their home in the gray dawn in order to assist at the preliminaries to the breakfast which had to be eaten by a large company of the dalesmen before certain of them set out on the long journey across the fells.
The previous day had been the day of the "winding," a name that pointed to the last offices of Abraham Strong, the Wythburn carpenter.
In the afternoon of the winding day the mistresses of the houses within the "warning" had met to offer liberal doses of solace and to take equally liberal doses of sweet broth, a soup sweetened with raisins and sugar, which was reserved for such melancholy occasions.
According to ancient custom, the "maister men" of the dale were to assemble at nine o'clock on the morning following the winding, and it was to meet their needs that old Mrs.Branthwaite and her daughter had walked over to assist Rotha.

The long oak table had to be removed from the wall before the window, and made to stand down the middle of the floor.