the day's work, and frequently became a sort of dumb confidant.
Farmer Robson's Lassie now lay down at her master's feet, placed
her nose between her paws, and watched with attentive eyes the
preparations going on for refreshments--preparations which, to the
disappointment of her canine heart, consisted entirely of tumblers
and sugar.

'Where's t' wench?' said Robson, after he had shaken hands with
Kinraid, and spoken a few words to him and to Mrs. Corney. 'She's
getten' a basket wi' sausages in 'em, as my missus has made, and
she's a rare hand at sausages; there's noane like her in a' t' three
Ridings, I'll be bound!'

For Daniel could praise his wife's powers in her absence, though he
did not often express himself in an appreciative manner when she was
by to hear. But Sylvia's quick sense caught up the manner in which
Mrs. Corney would apply the way in which her mother's housewifery had
been exalted, and stepping forwards out of the shadow, she said,--

'Mother thought, maybe, you hadn't killed a pig yet, and sausages is
always a bit savoury for any one who is na' well, and----'

She might have gone on but that she caught Kinraid's eyes looking at
her with kindly admiration. She stopped speaking, and Mrs. Corney
took up the word--

'As for sausages, I ha' niver had a chance this year, else I stand
again any one for t' making of 'em. Yorkshire hams 's a vast thought
on, and I'll niver let another county woman say as she can make
better sausages nor me. But, as I'm saying, I'd niver a chance; for