A wedge of stone wall---one door, one window---was all the face it
showed, the short chimney rising further to the sunken right. It was
in fact a hole, dug and lined with stone perhaps a thousand years
before by some wandering Pict, with a living roof of roots and turf.
Her aunt had merely dug it out again and repaired the chimney. The
window and door, framed in ready openings, were new, along with stout
ceiling beams. Nothing more. It was a place that perhaps ten people
knew of, and nine avoided.
She stood unresolved, chafing the arms of her dress, unable to keep
warm. But at that moment a solitary figure came up the path towards
her, and she recognized the shawl and bound hair of her aunt, stooped
beneath a large bundle of sticks.
"Inside with you, lass," said the woman evenly, again not evincing the
least surprise. "You'll catch your death."
"Let me help you with your load," the girl offered.
"I can quite carry my own burden, Mary. Just open the door for me;
I'll walk through it." Mary did as she asked. They went inside.
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