It was to seats left vacant near this group that the man and his wife who had procured the milk returned.

The man, who was past middle life, betook himself to his seat wearily, and pulled his cap over his eyes without speaking.

His wife deposited the mug of milk in a basket, speaking in low but brisk tones to the lady who held the baby.
"There, Sophia; I've had to pay a shilling for a cupful, but I've got some milk." "I should have thought you would have been surer to get good milk at a larger station, mamma." She did not turn as she spoke, perhaps for fear of waking the sleeping baby.
The other, who was the infant's mother, was rapidly tying a shawl round her head and shoulders.

She was a little stout woman, who in middle age had retained her brightness of eye and complexion.

Her features were regular, and her little nose had enough suggestion of the eagle's beak in its form to preserve her countenance from insignificance.
"Oh, my dear," she returned, "as to the milk--the young man looked quite clean, I assure you; and then such a large country as the cows have to roam in!" Having delivered herself of this energetic whisper, she subsided below the level of the seat back, leaving Sophia to sit and wonder in a drowsy muse whether the mother supposed that the value of a cow's milk would be increased if, like Io, she could prance across a continent.
Sophia Rexford sat upright, with the large baby in her arms and a bigger child leaning on her shoulder.