The young man who was kneeling by the girl just now, goes to her other side, and succeeds in supporting her by putting his arm round her waist, whilst the woman holds her by one arm; and thus they follow the good mistress of the farm, followed in their turn by the rest of the party.
They move slowly down the road, underneath the fine oak and ash trees that shelter the back of the farm, until they reach a large farm-yard, wherein some thirty fine cows, of Welsh, English, and Alderney breed, are yielding their rich milk at the hands of some three or four rough-looking men and women who are kneeling down to get it.
'Come here, Tom,' cries the mistress, authoritatively.
Tom gives a knowing wink to the nearest girl, mutters, 'Irish again,' and goes to his mistress.
'See if there is good clean straw spread in the barn, Tom, and make haste.'
Tom goes to a large building outside the farm-yard, whither his mistress and the rest follow him.
'Plenty of straw, ma'am, good enough for such folk,' says Tom.
'Spread some more, and shut the window in the loft.'
This is done in a slow grumbling way.
The barn is a large, clean, airy building, that must look like a palace to these ragged, way-worn people.