As the winter winds bit deep, the people of Haworth barred their doors. Up at the vicarage Tabitha jammed anything suitable into any cracks as she attempted to deny the wind entry. Then she banked the fire in the study. No one would suffer a chill on her watch.
As she returned to the kitchen she stopped and glanced back into the parlour. For it always pleased her to see the children gathered together. Today the older four children appeared to be mimicking their father, as they scribbled with their quills. Whilst nearby the two younger children listened in delight at the fantastical worlds that the older children created.
Tabitha wondered if the children might weave the toy soldiers that their father Patrick Bronte had brought Branwell today. Then smiling She returned to the kitchen. It was good to see the children writing and drawing, for it distracted them from pestering their mother. For Tabitha was worried about Maria Bronte. When this wind dropped she would suggest to Patrick that the doctor might be called.
Footnote: Seeing the miniature quills reminded me of the amazingly tiny books that the children of Patrick and Maria Bronte produced.