Mrs.Mugridge was seventy-three.

From seven years of age she had worked in the fields, doing a boy's work at first, and later a man's.

She still worked, keeping the house shining, washing, boiling, and baking, and, with my advent, cooking for me and shaming me by making my bed.

At the end of threescore years and more of work they possessed nothing, had nothing to look forward to save more work.

And they were contented.