His menfolk had done well: things were in apple-pie order.

The fire crackled, the kettle was on the boil, the cloth spread.

He turned to Polly to kiss her welcome, to relieve her of bonnet and mantle.

But before he could do this there came a noise of rowdy voices, of shouting and parleying.

Picking up the lantern, he ran out to see what the matter was.
Left alone Polly remained standing by the table, on which an array of tins was set--preserved salmon, sardines, condensed milk--their tops forced back to show their contents.