There was a
cheerful feeling of activity, and even an air of comfort, about the
Byfleet Poor-house. Almost every one was possessed of a most
interesting past, though there was less to be said about the future.
The inmates were by no means distressed or unhappy; many of them
retired to this shelter only for the winter season, and would go out
presently, some to begin such work as they could still do, others to
live in their own small houses; old age had impoverished most of them
by limiting their power of endurance; but far from lamenting the fact
that they were town charges, they rather liked the change and
excitement of a winter residence on the poor-farm. There was a
sharp-faced, hard-worked young widow with seven children, who was an
exception to the general level of society, because she deplored the
change in her fortunes. The older women regarded her with suspicion,
and were apt to talk about her in moments like this, when they
happened to sit together at their work.
The three bean-pickers were dressed alike in stout brown ginghams,
checked by a white line, and all wore great faded aprons of blue
drilling, with sufficient pockets convenient to the right hand. Miss
Peggy Bond was a very small, belligerent-looking person, who wore a
huge pair of steel-bowed spectacles, holding her sharp chin well up in
air, as if to supplement an inadequate nose. She was more than half
blind, but the spectacles seemed to face upward instead of square
ahead, as if their wearer were always on the sharp lookout for birds.
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