“I would like that but I promised to help Faith Foster, who is making clothing for the naked, shivering babies in Annis village. When Oddy’s little girl died a week ago, there wasn’t a night-gown in the house to bury it in. Its mother tore a breadth out of her one petticoat and folded her baby in it.”
“Oh, Katherine Annis! Surely that tale is not true!” cried Madam.
“Alas, it is too true! The baby’s one little gown was not fit even for the grave.”
The Squire sat down and covered his face with his hands and when Katherine left the room he looked up pitifully at his wife. And she stooped and kissed him and as she did so comforted him with broken words of affection and assurances that it was not his fault—“thou hast pinched us all a bit to keep the cottage looms busy,” she said, “thou couldn’t do more than that, could thou, Antony?”
“I thought I was doing right. Is there any other way?”
“Thou could build—like the rest.”
He did not answer the remark but stood up hurriedly, saying, “I must go and order Katherine’s mount and she will expect me to put her up. After that I may go to Yoden Bridge.”
Madam sighed and turned hopelessly away. “When will he listen to reason?” she whispered, but there was no answer.