Norah sat down again. A box came from the dark recess of the room; the woman wiped it with her apron and laid it on the floor by the fire. The man placed a loaf, some sugar, a piece of butter, and a tin mug on the table.
“Donal,” said the woman suddenly, “milk.”
The man went out and returned in about ten minutes with some warm milk at the bottom of a large wooden pail.
“We just get a wee drop from the farmer’s cows when there’s nobody about,” he explained.
When tea was ready the girl was handed the tin porringer filled to the brim; the pannikin in which the tea was made served the other two, both drinking from the vessel in turn. Norah ate the bread greedily; she felt very hungry. The man and woman had recourse to the bottle once more when the meal was finished.
“Where is the tattie squad now?” asked Donal.
“Down at G—— farm, near S——,” answered Norah.
“Donal, dinna speir,” said the woman in a sharp voice.
“Jean, haud yer tongue,” answered the man, but he did not press the question when he noticed a startled look steal into Norah’s eyes.
“Things maun be some way,” said the woman in a voice of consolation, though she seemed to be addressing nobody in particular, “and things will happen.”