‘I say, Martha,’ shouted a bolder-hearted man, ’hasn’t the master let thee know thee must turn out to-day?  He wants to lay the foundation of a new house, and get the walls up afore the frost comes on; and we are come to pick the old place to the ground.  He only told us an hour ago, or we’d have seen thee was ready.’

‘I don’t believe thee; thee’s only romancing,’ said Martha, turning very pale.  ’The old place is our own, and no master has any right to it, save Stephen.’

‘It’s no use wasting breath,’ replied William Morris.  ’The master says he’s bought the place from thy grandfather, lass; and he agreed to turn out by noon on Michaelmas Day.  Master doesn’t want to be hard upon you; and he says, if you’ve no place to turn in to, you may go to the old cabin on the upper cinder-hill, till there’s a cottage empty in Botfield; and we’ll help thee to move the things at wunst.  We’re to get the roof off and the walls down afore nightfall.’

‘Grandfather and little Nan!’ screamed Martha; ’get into the house this minute!  It’s no use you men coming up here on this errand.  You know grandfather’s simple, and he hasn’t sold the house; how could he?  He’s no more sense than little Nan.  No, no; you must go down to the works, and hear what Stephen says.  You’re a pack of rascals, every one of you, and the master’s the biggest; and you’ll all have to gnash your teeth over this business some day, I reckon.’

By this time the old man and the child were safely within the house; and Martha, springing quickly from the wicket, where she had kept the men at bay, followed them in, and barred the door, before any one of the labourers could thrust his shoulder in to prevent her.  They held a consultation together when they found that no arguments prevailed upon her to open to them, to which Martha listened disdainfully through the large chinks, but vouchsafed no answer.

‘Come, come, my lass,’ said William Morris soothingly; ’it’s lost time and strength, thee contending with the master.  I don’t like the business; but our orders are clear, and we must obey them.  Thee let us in, and we’ll carry the things down to the cinder-hill cabin for thee.  If thee won’t open the door, we’ll be forced to take the thatch off.’

‘I won’t,’ answered Martha,—­’not for the lord of the manor himself.  The house is ours, and I ’ware any of you to touch it.  Go down to Stephen and hear what he’ll say.  If thee takes the thatch off, thee shan’t move me out.’

But when the old stove-pipe, through which the last breath of the household fire had passed, was drawn up, and the blue sky could be seen through the cloud of dust and dirt with which the hut was filled, choking the helpless old man and the frightened child, Martha’s courage failed her; and she went out, with little Nan clinging round her, and spoke as calmly to the invaders as her rising sobs would let her.

‘You know it’s grandmother’s own house,’ she said; ’and the lord of the manor himself has no right to it.  But I’ll go down and fetch Stephen, if you’ll only wait.’