It would be no very easy task to describe how unhappy Stephen was when, from day to day, he saw Martha’s pleasant sisterly ways change into a rude and careless harshness, and her thrifty, cleanly habits give place to the dirty extravagance of the collier-folk at Botfield.  But who could tell how he suffered in his warm, tender-hearted nature, when he came home at night, and found the poor old grandfather neglected, and left desolate in his blindness; and little Nan herself severely punished by Martha’s unkindness and quick temper?  Not that Martha became bad suddenly, or was always unkind and neglectful; there were times when she was her old self again, when she would listen patiently enough to Stephen’s remonstrances and Miss Anne’s gentle teaching; but yet Stephen could never feel sure, when he was at his dismal toil underground, that all things were going on right in his home overhead.  Often and often, as he looked up to Fern’s Hollow, where the new red-brick house was now to be seen plainly, like a city set on a hill, he longed to be back again, and counted the months and weeks until the spring should bring home the good clergyman to Danesford.

One day, during the time allowed to the pit-girls for eating their dinner, Bess came running over the cinderhills in breathless haste to the old cabin.  Martha had been busy all the morning, and was still standing at the washing-tub; but she was glad of an excuse for resting herself, and when Bess sprang over the door-sill, she received her very cordially.

‘Martha!  Martha!’ cried Bess; ’come away quickly.  Here’s Andrew the packman in the lane, with such shawls, Martha!  Blue and red and yellow and green!  Only five shillings a-piece; and thee canst pay him a shilling a week.  Come along, and be sharp with thee.’

‘I’ve got no money to spend,’ said Martha sullenly.  ’Stephen ought to let grandfather go into the House, and then we shouldn’t be so pinched.  What with buying for him and little Nan, I’ve hardly a brass farthing in the world for myself.’

‘I’d not pinch,’ Bess answered; ’let Stephen pinch if he will.  Why, all the lads in Botfield are making a mock at thee, calling thee an old-fashioned piece and Granny Fern.  But come and look, anyhow; Andrew will be gone directly.’

Bess dragged Martha by the arm to the top of the cinder-hill, where they could see the pit-girls clustering round the packman in the lane.  The black linen wrapper in which his pack was carried was stretched along the hedge, and upon it was spread a great show of bright-coloured shawls and dresses, and the girls were flitting from one to another, closely examining their quality; while Andrew’s wife walked up and down, exhibiting each shawl by turns upon her shoulders.  The temptation was too strong for Martha; she wiped the soap-suds from her arms upon her apron, and ran as eagerly down to the lane as Black Bess herself.

‘Eh! here’s a clean, tight lass for you!’ cried Andrew, comparing Martha with the begrimed pit-girls about him.  ’The best shawl in my pack isn’t good enough for you, my dear.  Pick and choose.  Just make your own choice, and I’ll accommodate you about the price.’