It was in the midst of
another shower of hail, driven on the blasts of a keen wind, that we
arrived at the little cottage. It had been built by Duff himself to
receive his bride, and although since enlarged, was still a very
little house. It had a foundation of stone, but the walls were of
turf. He had lined it with boards, however, and so made it warmer and
more comfortable than most of the labourers' dwellings. When we
entered, a glowing fire of peat was on the hearth, and the pot with
the supper hung over it. Mrs. Duff was spinning, and Elsie, by the
light of a little oil lamp suspended against the wall, was teaching
her youngest brother to read. Whatever she did, she always seemed in
my eyes to do it better than anyone else; and to see her under the
lamp, with one arm round the little fellow who stood leaning against
her, while the other hand pointed with a knitting-needle to the
letters of the spelling-book which lay on her knee, was to see a
lovely picture. The mother did not rise from her spinning, but spoke a
kindly welcome, while Elsie got up, and without approaching us, or
saying more than a word or two, set chairs for us by the fire, and
took the little fellow away to put him to bed.
"It's a cold night," said Mrs. Duff. "The wind seems to blow through
me as I sit at my wheel. I wish my husband would come home."
"He'll be suppering his horses," said Turkey.
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