"No fear of that."
She went to the oven, put a stew upon the table, and lifted her voice to the accustomed penetrating note.
"Dinner! Dinner! Come, master! Us can't bide about all afternoon for you. Susan, get down house, will 'e, an' let me see the dustpan. I know what your sweeping be like—only too well."
Mr. Weekes received a volume of reproaches as he entered five minutes later, and took his place at the head of the table.
"I've been plucking fowls, an' had to wash," he said.
"Then I hope to God you chose the right ones. Mrs. Swain will have 'em the same size to a hair. If they come to table a thought uneven, her pleasure's spoilt. And the best customer I've got in the Three Towns. But what do you care...? Susan, you dirty imp, can't you... Tchut! If your parents don't turn in their graves, it ban't no fault of yours...!"
So she played chorus to the banquet. How Mrs. Weekes ever found time to eat none knew.
CHAPTER VI
WATTERN OKE
When Daniel Brendon stepped out of the world into church, a change came upon his spirit, and he had the power of absorbing himself in religious fervour. He lived under the permanent sense of a divine presence, and when life prospered with him and nothing hurt or angered him, the labourer's mind was cheered by the companionship of his Maker. Only if overtaken by a dark mood, or conscious of wrong-doing, did he feel solitary. The experience was rare, yet he faced it without self-delusion, and assured himself that when God forsook his heart, the fault was his own.