But the interior was warm enough when once you had mounted the long
bleak lane, full of round rough stones, enough to lame any horse
unaccustomed to such roads, and had crossed the field by the little
dry, hard footpath, which tacked about so as to keep from directly
facing the prevailing wind. Mrs. Robson was a Cumberland woman, and
as such, was a cleaner housewife than the farmers' wives of that
north-eastern coast, and was often shocked at their ways, showing it
more by her looks than by her words, for she was not a great talker.
This fastidiousness in such matters made her own house extremely
comfortable, but did not tend to render her popular among her
neighbours. Indeed, Bell Robson piqued herself on her housekeeping
generally, and once in-doors in the gray, bare stone house, there
were plenty of comforts to be had besides cleanliness and warmth.
The great rack of clap-bread hung overhead, and Bell Robson's
preference of this kind of oat-cake over the leavened and partly
sour kind used in Yorkshire was another source of her unpopularity.
Flitches of bacon and 'hands' (i.e., shoulders of cured pork, the
legs or hams being sold, as fetching a better price) abounded; and
for any visitor who could stay, neither cream nor finest wheaten
flour was wanting for 'turf cakes' and 'singing hinnies,' with which
it is the delight of the northern housewives to regale the honoured
guest, as he sips their high-priced tea, sweetened with dainty
sugar.
This night farmer Robson was fidgeting in and out of his house-door,
climbing the little eminence in the field, and coming down
disappointed in a state of fretful impatience. His quiet, taciturn
wife was a little put out by Sylvia's non-appearance too; but she
showed her anxiety by being shorter than usual in her replies to his
perpetual wonders as to where the lass could have been tarrying, and
by knitting away with extra diligence.
'I've a vast o' mind to go down to Monkshaven mysen, and see after
t' child. It's well on for seven.' 'No, Dannel,' said his wife; 'thou'd best not. Thy leg has been
paining thee this week past, and thou'rt not up to such a walk. I'll
rouse Kester, and send him off, if thou think'st there's need on
it.' 'A'll noan ha' Kester roused. Who's to go afield betimes after t'
sheep in t' morn, if he's ca'ed up to-neet? He'd miss t' lass, and
find a public-house, a reckon,' said Daniel, querulously.
'I'm not afeard o' Kester,' replied Bell. 'He's a good one for
knowing folk i' th' dark. But if thou'd rather, I'll put on my hood
and cloak and just go to th' end o' th' lane, if thou'lt have an eye
to th' milk, and see as it does na' boil o'er, for she canna stomach
it if it's bishopped e'er so little.' Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices were
heard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer every
moment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and to
listen.