'You would if you wanted to keep your cottage,' said Deb brusquely. Then, taking off her sun-bonnet and smoothing down her grey hair, she sat down on an old oak settle beside the little cheery blazing fire, and grasping her angular knees with each hand, she looked at Given a little defiantly.
'Eight and forty year come next Christmas have Patty and I lived together here, and never a year have we been behind our rent since father died; but it have been done by downright hard labour. And if you and your people want new-laid eggs, or fresh spring chickens, or honey from the comb, why, 'tis Patty that will supply you, as also milk and butter from an Alderney cow.'
''Tis Sunday!' ejaculated Patty, as she stood by the fire with arms akimbo; and at this retort Gwen and Elfie laughed outright.
'And do you ever go away from home?' asked Gwen curiously, after a slight pause, in which Deb looked very discomposed.
'We are continually away,' said Deb, looking up and speaking very shortly. 'I know every gentry's house in the neighbourhood, not to speak of Brambleton, where Patty goes reg'lar once a week to market. But as to sleepin' away, that we never mean to do till we be taken to our last restin'-place!'
'And are you great readers? I am afraid we disturbed you from your books when we came in.'
Patty took up her book, which was on the window-ledge. ''Tis Bunyan's book, The Pilgrim's Progress. Father give Deb and me a copy each when we were fifteen years old, and we have read it every Sunday afternoon since. We don't always get very far, for 'tis a sleepy time in the afternoon, but a page or two is always edifyin' and improvin' to the soul!'
'It's a lovely book!' said Elfie enthusiastically; 'you must know it nearly by heart.'
The sisters smiled at each other.
'We do that,' said Deb.