ayson, a week before, she and her old husband and a
granddaughter of fourteen had been its only inmates.

Mrs. Grayson received her with a smile.

'Aye, aye, Mrs. Sarratt, coom in. Yo're welcome.'

But as Nelly entered the flagged kitchen, with its joints of bacon and
its bunches of dried herbs, hanging from the low beamed ceiling, its
wide hob grate, its dresser, table and chairs of old Westmorland oak,
every article in it shining with elbow-grease,--she saw that Mrs.
Grayson looked particularly tired and pale.

'Yo mun ha' passed them in t' lane?' said the farmer's wife wearily,
when the flowers had been admired and put in water, and Nelly had been
established in the farmer's own chair by the fire, while his wife
insisted on getting an early cup of tea.

'Who were they, Mrs. Grayson?'

'Well, they're nobbut a queer soart, Mrs. Sarratt--and I'd be glad to
see t' back on 'em. They're "conscientious objectors"--that's what they
are--an my husband coom across them in Kendal toother day. He'd
finished wi t' market, and he strolled into the room at the Town Hall,
where the men were coomin' in--yo know--to sign on for the war. An' he
got talkin' wi' these two lads, who were lookin' on as he was. And they
said they was "conscientious objectors"--and wouldn't fight not for
nothing nor nobody. But they wouldn't mind doing their bit in other
ways, they said. So John he upped and said--would they coom and help him
with his second crop o' hay--you know we've lost nearly all our men,
Mrs. Sarratt--and they said they would--and that very evening he brought
'em along. And who do you think they are?'

Nelly could not guess; and Mrs. Grayson explained that the two young men
were the wealthy sons of a wealthy Liverpool tradesman and were starting
a branch of their father's business in Kendal. They had each of them a
motor, and apparently unlimited money. They had just begun to be useful
in the hay-making--'But they wouldn't _touch_ the stock--they wouldn't
kill anything--not a rat! They wouldn't even shoo the birds from the
oats! And last night one of them was took ill--and I must go and sit up
with him, while his brother fetched the big car from Kendal to take him
home. And there was he, groaning,--nobbut a bit of _colic_, Mrs.
Sarratt, that anybody might have!--and there I sat--thinking of our lads
in the trenches--thinking of _my boy_--that never grumbled at
anything--and would ha' been just ashamed to make such a fuss for suc