ured terms of reproach and indignation. As Sarah entered, she turned to her, "Ay, come thy ways in, and look at thy brother. Did ta iver see a bigger vagabond than he is? Here he's back home again, and without work, and without a penny, and thou knows t' little one and I were pretty well clemmed to death when thou got us a bit o' bread and meat last night. We were that!"
"Steve, my dear lad."
"Sarah, lass, I'm glad to see thee."
"I hev brought thee good news, Steve. Joyce, be quiet now, all is going to be right and happy again. Master Burley says, 'Tell Steve to come back to his loom.' Thou can start to-morrow morn, Steve."
Joyce threw her apron over her head, and began to cry softly, tears of hope and relief. Steve stood sullen and silent, glancing first at Sarah and then at his worn-out shoes and ragged clothes. She understood his thought. She even divined the kind of repugnance he felt to go back at all to daily work, especially among the old comrades whom he had so pridefully deserted, and she put her hand on his wet, ragged coat-sleeve, and said, soothingly, "Thou
