‘No, no,’ Ellen said. She was unable to move as she leaned against the door. The woman dragged a sack from the corner.

‘You see this-here coat, and this-here old hat? Them’s Prather’s, I judge. I see ’em go by on him many a time. This-here is Mrs Prather’s old petticoat, and here’s her under-body, and here’s her old blue dress. Here’s his winter gloves. It’s a right full bundle, but it’s the quilts make it stand out. Help tie it up, will you? Tie a knot in the string. Are you satisfied now it’s the parties I named to you?’

‘I think I better go back now,’ Ellen said. ‘I’m right obliged to you for the rest and for the drink of water. I got a right far piece to go and I think I’ll set out. I’ll bid you good evening.’

‘How far you come, gal?’

‘I come right far, five mile, maybe.’

‘You come better’n five mile. I know all the folks in five mile and I never set eyes on you afore. How far, now?’

‘Better’n five mile, maybe. I guess I’ll be a-goen. Good evening.’

‘Wait now. Did you come from up around the Robinson country?’

‘On beyond that. I come from up around Wakefield’s. Pappy crops on Wakefield’s place.’

‘That’s ten mile, now. You couldn’t go a-walken back on foot this time of the day. Not a good looken gal like you. No. The country all full of road-menders and them that’s a-campen up the creek. No, no. Get in home away toward day or maybe not get in at all. It’s ten mile, nohow. Wouldn’t you be a sight by daylight!’

Ellen drew away from the door, putting on her hat.

‘The road-menders is a feisty set and there’s a fresh set a-campen on the river.’ The woman followed her out onto the road.

‘I’ll have to hurry on and so I’ll be on my way. Good evening.’

‘You couldn’t set out to walk ten mile now, and night right here at us. Dark would come afore you got two mile, now. Wait now, wench. Them road-menders is a feisty set. You better stay all night. I’ll give you a quilt on the floor right alongside my bed, and you can pay me with your shoes, maybe, or your petticoat.’

‘No, no, I’d have to go. It’s time I was gone now.’

The woman followed Ellen a few steps from the door, her bare feet making stiff prints in the dust. All the while she was taunting Ellen with the distance and offering her a bed on the floor in return for her shoes or her hat, or she was leering at her in depicting the lusts of the road-menders. She would picture and prophesy the night on the lonely road or she would whimper that if Ellen would pay her with the shoes she would take her home in a cart, but since the girl had no money how could one expect a lonely old woman with hardly a cent to her name to be hauling a big lazy girl around, and then she would sniffle at her tears. In the end she hurled curses after Ellen, who was hurrying up the lane toward the highroad, who turned at the corner of the lane hearing the last curse, but no maledictions fell heavily upon her because she was drugged with her own sorrow and physical pain. She walked quickly down into the shadowed roadway and fell to weeping, her tears flowing down her quiet face as from some wells of grieving. She gave little heed to the road, but her feet followed the ways they had come although night soon fell.