Sylvia's Lovers

A fortnight had passed over and winter was advancing with rapid

strides. In bleak northern farmsteads there was much to be done

before November weather should make the roads too heavy for half-fed

horses to pull carts through. There was the turf, pared up on the

distant moors, and left out to dry, to be carried home and stacked;

the brown fern was to be stored up for winter bedding for the

cattle; for straw was scarce and dear in those parts; even for

thatching, heather (or rather ling) was used. Then there was meat to

salt while it could be had; for, in default of turnips and

mangold-wurzel, there was a great slaughtering of barren cows as

soon as the summer herbage failed; and good housewives stored up

their Christmas piece of beef in pickle before Martinmas was over.

Corn was to be ground while yet it could be carried to the distant

mill; the great racks for oat-cake, that swung at the top of the

kitchen, had to be filled. And last of all came the pig-killing,

when the second frost set in. For up in the north there is an idea

that the ice stored in the first frost will melt, and the meat cured

then taint; the first frost is good for nothing but to be thrown

away, as they express it.

There came a breathing-time after this last event. The house had had

its last autumn cleaning, and was neat and bright from top to bottom,

from one end to another. The turf was led; the coal carted up from

Monkshaven; the wood stored; the corn ground; the pig killed, and

the hams and head and hands lying in salt. The butcher had been glad

to take the best parts of a pig of Dame Robson's careful feeding;

but there was unusual plenty in the Haytersbank pantry; and as Bell

surveyed it one morning, she said to her husband-'I wonder if yon poor sick chap at Moss Brow would fancy some o' my

sausages. They're something to crack on, for they are made fra' an

old Cumberland receipt, as is not known i' Yorkshire yet.' 'Thou's allays so set upo' Cumberland ways!' said her husband, not

displeased with the suggestion, however. 'Still, when folk's sick

they han their fancies, and maybe Kinraid 'll be glad o' thy

sausages. I ha' known sick folk tak' t' eating snails.' This was not complimentary, perhaps. But Daniel went on to say that

he did not mind if he stepped over with the sausages himself, when

it was too late to do anything else. Sylvia longed to offer to

accompany her father; but, somehow, she did not like to propose it.

Towards dusk she came to her mother to ask for the key of the great

bureau that stood in the house-place as a state piece of furniture,

although its use was to contain the family's best wearing apparel,

and stores of linen, such as might be supposed to be more needed

upstairs.