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Gammer Gurney mended the fire and chattered briskly.

“Theer’ll be little more huntin’ ’pon the high Moor ’fore the snaw come. An’ ’tis near now. It be given me to knaw ’bout what fashion weather us may look for by the birds an’ berries, by the autumn colour of leaves, by tokens hid in still waters an’ the callin’ of the cleeves.”

“The reds was in the sky this marnin’,” said John, “a savage, sulky sunrise, I warn ’e.”

“I seed un; an’ a terrible braave sight of snaw unshed in the elements; an’ the airth ripe for it. Gert snaw an’ ice be comin’, wi’ sorrowful deep drifts an’ death to man an’ beast, an’ awfullest floods to follow arter. I’ve knawn this many days an’ laid in store against it.”

Timothy now saw his opportunity.

“And I’m going to add to that store if you’ll let me. There’s a fine hare in the bag.”

“A hare, did ’e say? They’m dark, fanciful beasts, an’ if I was anything but a honest woman, I’d not touch no such thing. But I knaw what I knaw. Wheer did ’e find un?”

“I shot un,” said John, dragging the animal forth. “Her was sittin’ aquott under a tussock nigh Horn’s Cross on Holne Moor.”