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§ 8

That winter was not a happy one in Susan's home. Those winters before the Repeal were dreaded in humble homes all over the country. Working folk saved what they could during the summer, but it was not much—faggots and dried duns for fire-wood, a sack of flour from their own gleanings, and maybe a side of bacon for Christmas fare. Adam Spray earned only ten and sixpence a week from the labour of himself and his two daughters and the bounty of the Colgates. It was impossible for Ruth to save on her weekly budget for a family of eight. And now she was expecting another mouth to feed. Susan knew, and Tamar knew, and little Ruth knew; only the three little boys were too young to know.

"Wot will our mother feed the new babby on when it comes?" asked Tamar one hungry morning in March, when they were all walking to the village—Tamar and Ruth to work, Susan on her way to school. All they had had for breakfast was a drink of hot water.

"She's given food for it," said Susan the eldest.

"Who gives it to her?"