every animal on the farm loved
the master, the men-servants and maid-servants also would do anything
to please him, for was he not ever mindful of their interests as if
they had been his own? In those days each labourer had three or four
acres of land as of right. This fostered an independent spirit and
made their affection a tribute worth the winning.[8] Later on that
same year, when winter came, earlier than its wont, the fells were
knee-deep in snow and all the beasts were brought for shelter round
the farm to protect them from the snow-drifts and bitter weather on
the upland pastures.

Then it was that at nights in the snug farm-house kitchen, after the
day's work was done, John Camm and his young wife together carved
their initials on the 'brideswain,' a tall oak chest that held the
goodly stock of homespun linen and flax brought by Mabel Camm to her
new home. John Camm was something of an artist. His was the design of
the interlaced initials. All his life he had been a skilful carver
with his tools on the winter evenings, and now he took pleasure in
showing his bride the right way to use them and how to fashion her
strokes aright. Night after night the two heads bent over their task,
but to this day it may still be seen at Cammsgill that one of the two
artists was less skilful than the other, for Mabel's curves are more
angular and without the careless ease of her husband's. What, however,
did unskilful fingers matter when the firelight shone upon two happy
faces bending over the work close together, aglow with the inner
radiance of two thankful hearts?

There were other uses for the brideswain the following summer. The
fair white sheets and pillow-cases were moved to an under-shelf. The
upper half of the chest was filled to overflowing with tiny garments
fashioned by Mabel's own fingers, skilful indeed at this dainty work.
No more woodcarving now, but endless rows of stitchery, tiny tucks and
delicate dotting, all ready to welcome the little son who arrived
before the summer's close, and completed his parents' joy.

Since that day, a dozen years had slipped away. Now young Thomas Camm
was leaving childhood, as he had long left babyhood, behind him. He
was a big boy, quick, strong for his age, and bidding fair to be as
good a farmer as his father some day.

'Cammsgill was a favourite house with both men and women servants, for
Mistress Camm took care that all had their fill of bread, butter,
milk, eggs or ba