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Mrs. Frizzell struck off at right angles across the field, and made for home with all possible speed. Her heart was full, nigh to bursting, and the lump in her throat caused her almost intolerable physical distress, but she resolutely forced the tears back. This was no time for crying—there was too much to be done—too much to be thought of.

* * * * *

It was about noon on the following day when Mrs. Frizzell arrived at Susan’s lodging.

The poor girl ran to meet her with an inarticulate cry, and the mother, without looking at her, began to talk rapidly in her characteristically matter-of-fact fashion.

“I be come to take ’ee home, my dear—Father an’ me think ’tis best—you’d better be gettin’ your things together. There, I did start so early as I could, but I had to go into one or two shops, and it did take I sich a time to find out this place! Ye’d best make haste and do your packing; there’s the getting back to be thought on. You can put up all as you’ve a-got ’cept your black dress—ye can slip that on. I’ve got everythin’ else as ye be like to want here.”