When Alinor and Alys walked into the mill yard the cart was at the door and clean straw in the bottom. A sprinkling of snow made it cold enough for the squares of butter to be loaded in their baskets without fear of them going soft. Alinor, Alys, and Jane loaded big round cheeses and eggs in baskets as well, until Mrs. Miller came out of the house, wrapped to her eyes in furs as if she was going to Russia, and took her place on the cart seat. Peter and Jane climbed up beside their mother.

Mr. Miller hurried to take up the reins. He knew that his wife would not tolerate delay. “Good day!” he said to Alinor, with a smile for Alys. “You’re in charge, you know! We’ll be home by dinnertime!”

Working at the mill without the constant critical commentary of Mrs. Miller and the hangdog eyes of her husband was like working in their own yard. Richard and the miller’s lad cleaned out the barn where the plowing oxen were stabled, and Alys and Alinor fed and watered them. The women turned the horses out into the frozen pasture for a few hours while the young men mucked out the stables. Alinor pumped the buckets of water and Alys carried them. They raked out the kennels and the henhouses, the pen for the geese and the cows’ stalls. The two women milked the cows and carried the pails to the dairy. They collected hens’ eggs from the henhouse and looked in the little warm nooks around the barns where the hens sometimes laid away; but Mrs. Miller had gone around at dawn and taken every one she could find to market. Every time anyone went past a fallen branch they carried it back to the yard and piled it up for the boy to break it into kindling or split it for logs.

They fired up the baking oven for those villagers who would bring their bread or homemade dinners to use the big oven at sunset, and Alys kneaded dough for their own breadmaking. They worked all day until the sun started to sink over the western mire and Alinor said with relief, “Time to go home.”

“Not without our wages,” Alys said. “I need them for tomorrow.”

“Alys, how much of your dowry do you have, exactly? Because we can’t be short tomorrow. They won’t call it off for the want of a shilling, but we don’t want to look like we’re robbing them on the church doorstep on the very day of your wedding.”

“Richard will give me whatever is missing. But I’d like to do as much as I can. I want my wages for today, since we’ve worked so hard. And Richard will give me his.”

Alinor was about to reply when they heard a shout from the gate and the rumble of wheels. Alys ran to open it and then she called to her mother: “Look who they’ve brought from Chichester!”

For a moment Alinor’s head bobbed up in the certainty that it was James Summer, come to claim her before them all. “Who?”

“It’s Rob!”

Alinor hurried out to the gate. “Oh, Rob! Oh, Rob!”

“Now then,” said Mr. Miller kindly. “You would think he’d been gone to Afric and back. He’s only been away a week.”

“But I didn’t think he’d come till tomorrow morning for his sister’s wedding!” Alinor exclaimed. “How are you, son? How was your first week?”

Rob, smartly dressed and grinning, bounded down from the mill wagon and hugged his mother, ducked down for her blessing, and kissed his sister. “Mrs. Miller came into the shop and bought some ratsbane, asked them if she could give me a lift home, and they were happy to let me go early,” he said. “I’m to be back at work Monday morning at eight o’clock, so I can stay for the wedding and overnight.”

“How kind of you.” Alinor turned to Mrs. Miller, her face glowing with happiness. “Neighborly indeed. I thank you.”

“Ah well,” the other woman said with unusual generosity. “He’s a fine young man and a credit to you. Is all well here?”

“Oh, yes,” Alinor said. “And we made a meat pie for your dinner. I didn’t know what you would get at market.”

“He dined well enough.” Mrs. Miller nodded towards her husband, whose red face and merry smile indicated a long stay in the market tavern while his wife and children were selling their cheeses, butter, and eggs. “But we shall be glad of something to eat.”

“I shall be glad of one of Mrs. Reekie’s pies,” Mr. Miller said cheerfully. “Nobody makes a meat pie like Mrs. Reekie.”

Alinor shook her head deprecatingly as Mrs. Miller surged past her into the kitchen. Alys and Alinor took the horse from the wagon, led him into the stable, hung up his heavy collar and bridle on the hook while Richard and the lad pushed the wagon into its place and unloaded the goods. Mrs. Miller had bought sacks of wool in the wagon for spinning, a new milking stool, some wooden bowls, and two feather pillows.

“Spent all that she earned,” Mr. Miller confided to Alinor.

“Shame on you,” Alinor said loyally. “Mrs. Miller is one of the best housewives on the island.”

“And what about this girl of yours?” Mr. Miller asked, giving Alys a casual slap on her bottom. “Is she going to make a good housewife to Richard Stoney?”

“I hope so,” Alinor said, drawing Alys to her and detaching her from Mr. Miller.

“Have you put the horse away?” Mrs. Miller bawled from the kitchen doorway.

“Aye!” Mr. Miller hollered back. “I’ve done all my work for one day. And they’ve done theirs. Are they getting paid today?”

Mrs. Miller disappeared back into the house and came out with their wages, a shilling for the two of them.

“Thank you very much,” Alinor said, as Mrs. Miller went back into the house and Alys and Alinor turned towards the yard gate.

“Is that right?” Mr. Miller asked suddenly. “A shilling, for a day’s work when you’ve done everything on the farm today?”

“It’s right,” Alinor said stiffly. She could have added—but hardly generous for a girl getting married tomorrow—but she would not say a word. Rob beside her stiffened, and she put her hand under his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

“It’s not right,” Mr. Miller said with the resentful persistence of a slightly drunken man. “Here! Betty Miller! You come out here!”

“Really,” Alinor said. “It’s right, Mr. Miller. Shilling a day, for the whole day, because we stopped at sunset.” She gave Rob a little push towards the yard gate.

Mrs. Miller came bustling out of her kitchen door. “And who’s shouting me out like I was a milkmaid?” she demanded.

Rob nodded to Mr. Miller. “Thank you for the lift in the wagon, Mr. Miller,” he said. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Miller.” Tactfully, he went to the yard gate and waited for his mother out of earshot as Mrs. Miller surged out and stood, hands on hips, glaring at her husband and Alinor.

“What’s this?” she demanded.

Alinor shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Really, nothing.”

“You’ve underpaid the Reekies,” Mr. Miller said mulishly. “Mother and the maid.”

“Sixpence each, as I always have done.”

“Sole charge!” he said, like a man who has discovered a password. “Sole charge. They had sole charge of the farm today, so that makes them like a yard man. Or like a bailiff. Sole charge. Good as a man. Good as two men.”