'Ah! But it inna lost and forgotten; it's better'n this. We've got bees.'
'So've I got bees.'
'And a music.'
'Music? What's a music? You canna eat it.'
'And my dad makes coffins.'
'Does 'e, now?' said Vessons, interested at last. Then he bethought him of the credit of Undern. 'But you anna got a mulberry-tree,' he said triumphantly. 'Now then! I 'ave!'
He creaked downstairs.
In a few moments Hazel also went down, and drank her tea by the red fire in the kitchen, watching the frost-flowers being softly effaced from the window as if someone rubbed them away with a sponge. Snow like sifted sugar was heaped on the sill, and the yard and outbuildings and fields, the pools and the ricks, all had the dim radiance of antimony.
'Where be the road?' asked Hazel, standing on the door-step and feeling rather lost. 'How'll I find it?'
'You wunna find it.'