There were symptoms of a quiet, but sturdy rebellion, that winter afternoon, in the small precincts of Haworth parsonage.

They made one unanimous and stiff remonstrance.

Tabby had tended them in their childhood; they, and none other, should tend her in her infirmity and age.

At tea-time, they were sad and silent, and the meal went away untouched by any of the three.

So it was at breakfast; they did not waste many words on the subject, but each word they did utter was weighty.