"There be something wrong," Mrs. Hanson thought. "I mislike it, Abram not being in his place, I missed his voice in that 'ymn which we did have to-day and which he was always partial to."
Not for days had she spoken to Abram. He passed the cottage regularly, he touched his hat politely when he saw Mrs. Hanson, for he was a polite man. But he had never crossed the threshold since Betty had got her place in the big house.
But Mrs. Hanson had heard things from others than Ann Colley. She had heard how Abram patiently and stolidly spent two hours every night staring at the arched green doorway in the wall of Homewood, through which doorway he knew must come Betty sooner or later.
Mrs. Hanson sat down to her Sunday dinner, it was a frugal meal of cold boiled bacon, a cold potato and a piece of bread. Mrs. Hanson was a strict Sabbatarian. Many and many a time when Betty had dared to remonstrate about the Sunday fare, Mrs. Hanson had said to her.
"Remember my maid, as you du keep holy the Sabbath day. Six days shalt 'ee labour and do your work, and not a potato will I have cooked in house of mine on the Seventh day, which be the day of the Lord, thy God, nor baked nor biled meats will I hev."
"But 'ee du bile the kettle, Grandmother, for to make a cup of tea on Sundays same as other days!" Betty had said.
"That be a different thing, tea one must hev; the Lord would not hev sent we tea if He had not meant we to bile a kittle to make it with."
"Nor potatoes," Betty thought, "if they were not to be cooked. After all, why was it a sin to boil water in a saucepan and no sin to boil it in a kettle."
So Mrs. Hanson sat down to cold bacon. Primly and stiffly she sat and mumbled the bacon between her hard gums, but she was not thinking of the carnal pleasure of feasting, her thoughts were of Abram Lestwick.
Strange that he was not at Church, strange that he should have missed on such a fine Sunday after all these years!