Presently, from his discreet distance, he saw the mother-child going down the road toward Tod’s, in her blue ‘pinny’ and corn-colored hair.  Nice little thing!  Pretty little thing, too!  Pity, great pity!  And he went back to the cottage.  On his way a thought struck him so that he well-nigh shivered.  Suppose the little thing brought back that Mrs. Freeland, the lady who always went about in blue, without a hat!  Phew!  Mr. Freeland—­he was another sort; a bit off, certainly—­harmless, quite harmless!  But that lady!  And he entered the cottage.  The woman was washing up; seemed a sensible body.  When the two kids cleared off to school he could go to work and get it over; the sooner the better, before people came hanging round.  A job of this kind sometimes made nasty blood!  His yellowish eyes took in the nature of the task before him.  Funny jam-up they did get about them, to be sure!  Every blessed little thing they’d ever bought, and more, too!  Have to take precious good care nothing got smashed, or the law would be on the other leg!  And he said to the woman: 

“Now, miss, can I begin?”

“I can’t stop you, sir.”

‘No,’ he thought, ‘you can’t stop me, and I blamed well wish you could!’ But he said:  “Got an old wagon out here.  Thought I’d save him damage by weather or anything; we’ll put everything in that, and run it up into the empty barn at Marrow and leave it.  And there they’ll be for him when he wants ’em.”

The woman answered:  “You’re very kind, I’m sure.”

Perceiving that she meant no irony, the agent produced a sound from somewhere deep and went out to summon his men.

With the best intentions, however, it is not possible, even in villages so scattered that they cannot be said to exist, to do anything without every one’s knowing; and the work of ‘putting out’ the household goods of the Tryst family, and placing them within the wagon, was not an hour in progress before the road in front of the cottage contained its knot of watchers.  Old Gaunt first, alone—­for the rogue-girl had gone to Mr. Cuthcott’s and Tom Gaunt was at work.  The old man had seen evictions in his time, and looked on silently, with a faint, sardonic grin.  Four children, so small that not even school had any use for them as yet, soon gathered round his legs, followed by mothers coming to retrieve them, and there was no longer silence.  Then came two laborers, on their way to a job, a stone-breaker, and two more women.  It was through this little throng that the mother-child and Kirsteen passed into the fast-being-gutted cottage.