Norah looked round and took a sudden interest in the place. An instinctive liking for this man and woman crept into her soul. True they were both half-tipsy, and the man now and again without any apparent reason uttered words which were not nice to hear.
“Yer wife is a kindly woman,” said Norah, breaking through the barriers of her silence.
“Wife!” said the man and laughed a trifle awkwardly. “Wife! Well, I suppose it is all the same.”
The man was a stunted little fellow, unshaven and ragged, but his shoulders were very broad. The little finger of his left hand was missing and his toes peeped out through his boots. His teeth were stained a dirty yellow with tobacco juice.
“It’s not much of a place, this,” he said. “We never have much company here ’cept the bat that lives in the rafters and the wind that comes in by the door and the stars that look down through the roof.”
He laughed loudly, but seeing that Norah did not join in his laughter, he suddenly became silent. Norah’s eyes again roved round the place. It was dirty and squalid, well in keeping with the occupants. A potato barrel stood in one corner; beside it was a pile of straw covered with a few dirty bags. This was the bed. The guttering candle gleamed feebly in the corner and the grease ran down the bottle. Overhead the bat was still fluttering madly, hitting against the joists every moment.
The woman re-entered the shed and placed the porringer of water on the fire; the man went to the barrel, lifted the bag which served as a cover, and brought out little packets of food.
“Can I be of any help to you?” asked Norah, rising to her feet.
“Ye’re tired and worn,” said the woman.
“Jean,” said the man, “don’t let the lass work.”