and distant and calm. He looked at the child. She was beside herself now.

He wanted her to stop, he wanted it all to stop, to become natural.

“Come,” he said, rising to turn away, “we'll go an' supper-up the beast.”

He took a big shawl, folded her round, and went out into the kitchen for a lantern.

“You're never taking the child out, of a night like this,” said Tilly.

“Ay, it'll quieten her,” he answered.

It was raining. The child was suddenly still, shocked, finding the rain on its face, the darkness.

“We'll just give the cows their something-to-eat, afore they go to bed,”