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dried…up old woman。 He had been a riotous； roystering puppy； mad
with the joy of life； when she was already a tottering； hobbling dame；
now he was just a blind； breathing carcase； nothing more； and she still
worked with frail energy； still swept and baked and washed； fetched and
carried。 If there were something in these wise old dogs that did not
perish utterly with death； Emma used to think to herself； what
generations of ghost…dogs there must be out on those hills； that Martha
had reared and fed and tended and spoken a last goodbye word to in that
old kitchen。 And what memories she must have of human generations
that had passed away in her time。 It was difficult for anyone； let alone
a stranger like Emma； to get her to talk of the days that had been； her
shrill； quavering speech was of doors that had been left unfastened； pails
that had got mislaid； calves whose feeding…time was overdue； and the
various little faults and lapses that chequer a farmhouse routine。 Now
and again； when election time came round； she would unstore her
recollections of the old names round which the fight had waged in the
days gone by。 There had been a Palmerston； that had been a name
down Tiverton way； Tiverton was not a far journey as the crow flies； but
to Martha it was almost a foreign country。 Later there had been
Northcotes and Aclands； and many other newer names that she had
forgotten； the names changed； but it was always Libruls and Toories；
Yellows and Blues。 And they always quarrelled and shouted as to who
was right and who was wrong。 The one they quarrelled about most was
a fine old gentleman with an angry face … she had seen his picture on
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the walls。 She had seen it on the floor too； with a rotten apple squashed
over it； for the farm had changed its politics from time to time。 Martha
had never been on one side or the other； none of 〃they〃 had ever done
the farm a stroke of good。 Such was her sweeping verdict； given with
all a peasant's distrust of the outside world。
When the half…frightened curiosity had somewhat faded away； Emma
Ladbruk was uncomfortably conscious of another feeling towards the
old woman。 She was a quaint old tradition； lingering about the place；
she was part and parcel of the farm itself； she was something at once
pathetic and picturesque … but she was dreadfully in the way。 Emma
had come to the farm full of plans for little reforms and improvements；
in part the result of training in the newest ways and methods； in part the
outcome of her own ideas and fancies。 Reforms in the kitchen region；
if those deaf old ears could have been induced to give them even a
hearing； would have met with short shrift and scornful rejection； and the
kitchen region spread over the zone of dairy and market business and
half the work of the household。 Emma； with the latest science of dead…
poultry dressing at her finger…tips； sat by； an unheeded watcher； while
old Martha trussed the chickens for the market…stall as she had trussed
them for nearly four…score years … all leg and no breast。 And the
hundred hints anent effective cleaning and labour… lightening and the
things that make for wholesomeness which the young woman was ready
to impart or to put into action dropped away into nothingness before that
wan； muttering； unheeding presence。 Above all； the coveted window
corner； that was to be a dainty； cheerful oasis in the gaunt old kitchen；
stood now choked and lumbered with a litter of odds and ends that
Emma； for all her nominal authority； would not have dared or cared to
displace； over them seemed to be spun the protection of something that
was like a human cobweb。 Decidedly Martha was in the way。 It
would have been an unworthy meanness to have wished to see the span
of that brave old life shortened by a few paltry months； but as the days
sped by Emma was conscious that the wish was there； disowned though
it might be； lurking at the back of her mind。
She felt the meanness of the wish come over her with a qualm of
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self…reproach one day when she came into the kitchen and found an
unaccustomed state of things in that usually busy quarter。 Old Martha
was not working。 A basket of corn was on the floor by her side； and
out in the yard the poultry were beginning to clamour a protest of
overdue feeding…time。 But Martha sat huddled in a shrunken bunch on
the window seat； looking out with her dim old eyes as though she saw
something stranger than the autumn landscape。
〃Is anything the matter； Martha？〃 asked the young woman。
〃'Tis death； 'tis death a…coming；〃 answered the quavering voice； 〃I
knew 'twere coming。 I knew it。 'Tweren't for nothing that old Shep's
been howling all morning。 An' last night I heard the screech…owl give
the death…cry； and there were something white as run across the yard
yesterday； 'tweren't a cat nor a stoat； 'twere something。 The fowls knew
'twere something； they all drew off to one side。 Ay； there's been
warnings。 I knew it were a…coming。〃
The young woman's eyes clouded with pity。 The old thing sitting
there so white and shrunken had once been a merry； noisy child； playing
about in lanes and hay…lofts and farmhouse garrets； that had been eighty
odd years ago； and now she was just a frail old body cowering under
the approaching chill of the death that was coming at las