[Grimne] h, when things

[Peplau Mezzina]

Om Mary had
spent her childhood, had inherited it also at exactly the same age.
"All right," he said at last, grudgingly, as though in answer to her
silence, "we'd better go. Write and say we'll go." * * * * * It was
Christmas Eve. They were in the kitchen of her uncle's farmhouse. The
deaf old
woman sat in her chair by the fire knitting. Upon her sunken face
there
was a curious sardonic smile that was her habitual expression. The
two men stood in the doorway. Mary

sat at the table
looking aimlessly out of the window. Outside, the snow fell in
blinding
showers. Inside, the

fire gleamed on to the copper pots and pans, the crockery on the old
oak dresser, the hams hanging from the ceiling. Suddenly
James turned. "Jane!" he said. The deaf woman never stirred. "Jane!"
Still there was no response upon the enigmatic old face by the
fireside. "_Jane!_" She turned
slightly towards the voice. "Get them photos from upstairs
to show John," he bawled. "What about boats?" she said. "_Photos!_"
roared
her husband. "Coats?" she quavered. Mary looked from one to the
other. The
man made a gesture of irritation and went from the room. He came back
with a pile of picture postcards in his hand. "It's quicker to do a
thing oneself," he grumbled. "They'
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