t up, then, Maggie, lass, get up wi' thee. Tha ma'es too much o' th'
bod."

A young man approached, limping, wearing a thick short coat and
knee-breeches. He was Danish-looking, broad at the loins.

"I's come back, then," said the father to the son--"leastwise, he's bin
browt back, flyed ower the Griff Low."

The son looked at me. He had a devil-may-care bearing, his cap on one
side, his hands stuck in the front pockets of his breeches. But he said
nothing.

"Shall you come in a minute, Master?" said the elderly woman, to me.

"Ay, come in an' ha'e a cup o' tea or summat. You'll do wi' summat,
carryin' that bod. Come on, Maggie wench, let's go in."

So we went indoors, into the rather stuffy, overcrowded living-room,
that was too cosy and too warm. The son followed last, standing in
the doorway. The father talked to me. Maggie put out the tea-cups. The
mother went into the dairy again.

"Tha'lt rouse thysen up a bit again now, Maggie," the father-in-law
said--and then to me: "'Er's not bin very bright sin' Alfred come whoam,
an' the bod flyed awee. 'E come whoam a Wednesday night, Alfred did. But
ay, you knowed, didna yer. Ay, 'e comed 'a Wednesday--an' I reckon there
wor a bit of a to-do between 'em, worn't there, Maggie?"

He twinkled maliciously to his daughter-in-law, who was flushed
brilliant and handsome.

"Oh, be quiet, father. You're wound up, by the sound of you," she said
to him, as if crossly. But she could never be cross with him.

"'Er's got 'er colour back this mornin'," continued the father-in-law
slowly. "It's bin heavy weather wi' 'er this last two days. Ay--'er's
bin north-east sin 'er seed you a Wednesday."

"Father, do stop talking. You'd wear the leg off an iron pot. I can't
think where you've found your tongue, all of a sudden," said Maggie,
with caressive sharpness.

"Ah've found it wheer I lost it. Aren't goin' ter come in an' sit thee
down, Alfred?"

But Alfred turned and disappeared.

"'E's got th' monkey on 'is back, ower this letter job," said the father
secretly to me. "Mother 'er knows nowt about it. Lot o' tomfoolery,
isn't it? Ay! What's good o' makin' a peck o' trouble ower what's far
enough off, an' ned niver come no nigher. No--not a smite o' use. That's
what I tell 'er. 'Er should ta'e no notice on't. Ay, what can y'expect."

The mother came in again, and the talk became general. Maggie flashed
her eyes at me from time to time, complacent and satisfied, moving among