“Hold your jaw, woman! I’ve had enough to vex me to-day without you startin’ your tantrums. You’re jealous of the grave. That’s wot’s the matter with you.”
“And ’er brats can insult me as they like—me that ’as cared for you these five years.”
“No, I didn’t say that. If he insulted you, it’s up to me to deal with him. Where’s that strap? Go, fetch him in!”
The woman came across and kissed him.
“I’ve only you, Silas.”
“Oh hell! don’t muck me about. I’m not in the mood. Go and fetch Willie in. You can bring Margery also. It takes the sauce out of her also, for I think she feels it more than he does.”
The woman left the room, but was back in a moment.
“’E’s off again!” said she. “It fair gets on my nerves to see him. Come ’ere, Silas! ’Ave a look!”
They went together into the back kitchen. A small fire was smouldering in the grate. Beside it, huddled up in a chair, sat a fair-haired boy of ten. His delicate face was upturned to the ceiling. His eyes were half-closed, and only the whites visible. There was a look of great peace upon his thin, spiritual features. In the corner a poor little cowed mite of a girl, a year or two younger, was gazing with sad, frightened eyes at her brother.
“Looks awful, don’t ’e?” said the woman. “Don’t seem to belong to this world. I wish to God ’e’d make a move for the other. ’E don’t do much good ’ere.”