-day the butter for which she was justly celebrated had to be
made. Beyond the kitchen was a dairy with a stone shelf round three
sides of it, a churn in the middle, large earthenware mugs of cream, and
a great tub of buttermilk in the corner. The sunlight never fell on this
side of the house until late afternoon, so that, though the day was
already hot, the shadow of the dairy and the yard beyond with its shed
for tools looked tranquil and cool.

Taking one of the tin pails and a milking-stool, she set off across the
fields to the pasture in which her two cows were grazing. Everything
within her sight as she passed--hedges, grass, corn, even the trodden
path across the field--gleamed with the radiance of the risen sun. The
sky, intolerably splendid and untroubled by clouds, was filled by the
sun. Even the thin smoke from the cottages flickered and was
illuminated. The trees had the leaves of Paradise. The world seemed to
hold nothing but the sun, and to be bewildered.

At the end of two fields' length she stayed by the pasture-gate and
rattled her can loudly. Two cows, gigantic against the sun, came slowly
to the gate. She tied their tails in turn, and settled on her stool
beside the dripping hedge. When her pail was full and frothing she set
them free, and with a flick of her apron sent them from the gate, which
she opened, setting her can down while she tied the hatch. Then she
returned over the two fields with the full and heavy can. The pony
snickered as she came into the yard, and the hens ran in a foolish crowd
across her way. She scattered them as she went, setting down her burden
within the dairy. She overturned the stale buttermilk into the pig's
trough, fed the hens, and drove the pony into lane, throwing stones and
tufts of grass after it until she saw it turn into the open gate of the
paddock. It would be joined soon by others, and the boy who brought them
would shut the gate. Then she scalded the churn anew, filled it, and
settled to the slow turning which was to occupy the greater part of her
morning. The churning became heavier and heavier. She raised the lid to
scrape the butter from its sides, and as she did so heard footsteps
coming across the yard, footsteps a little unusual in sound, each
seeming to be taken very deliberately, and going straight forward
without discrimination of the path.

"Here's Mary!" said Anne Hilton aloud, turning towards the door and
moving a chair. A woman of about forty-th