precautions to prevent dirt, and the precautions themselves became
objects to be protected. There was a rough scraper intervening on behalf
of the black-leaded scraper; there was a large mat to preserve the mat
beyond it: and although a drugget coveted the stair carpet, Mrs. Bellamy
would have been sorely vexed if she had found a footmark upon it. If a
friend was expected she put some straw outside the garden gate, and she
asked him in gentle tones when he dismounted if he would kindly "just
take the worst off" there. The kitchen was scoured and scrubbed till it
was fleckless. It was theoretically the living-room, and a defence for
the parlour, but it also was defended in its turn like the scraper, and
the back kitchen, which had a fireplace, was used for cooking, the fire
in the state kitchen not being lighted in summer time. Partly Mrs.
Bellamy's excessive neatness was due to the need of an occupation. She
brooded much, and the moment she had nothing to do she became
low-spirited and unwell. Partly also it was due to a touch of poetry.
She polished her verses in beeswax and turpentine, and sought on her
floors and tables for that which the poet seeks in Eden or Atlantis. It
must not be imagined that because she was so particular she was stingy.
She was one of the most open-handed creatures that ever breathed. She
loved plenty. The jug was always full to overflowing with beer, and the
dishes were always heaped up with good things, so that nobody was ever
afraid of robbing his neighbour.

Catharine was never weary of Chapel Farm. She was busy from morning to
night, and the living creatures on it were her especial delight.
Naturally, as is the case with all country girls, the circumference of
her knowledge embraced a region which a town matron would have veiled
from her daughters with the heaviest curtains.

"How's the foal going on?" said Mrs. Bellamy to her husband one evening