A FARMER'S WIFE Two eyes, old but yet keen, peered forth into the wintry night, and a grey head nodded approvingly, as Jeff Ironside and his wife came in silence to their home.

And then the bedroom blind came down, and Granny Grimshaw sat down cosily by her bit of wood fire to hold a strictly private little service of thanksgiving.
Downstairs into the raftered kitchen two people came, each holding each, both speechless, with a restraint that bound them as by a spell.
By nature the woman spoke first, her voice no more than a whisper.

"Sit on the settle, won't you?
I'm going to get your tea." His arm fell from her.

He sat down heavily, not looking at her.

She stepped to the fire and took the empty teapot from the hob, then light-footed to the dresser for the tea.
He did not watch her.