"Do we, Pattie?" repeated her father; and she said softly:
"No, daddy."
"So if you want more than that, we'll give up at once, and go elsewhere. I've been doubting between this and the next village."
"Well—I don't know—" began Cragg.
Then he stopped. Those blue eyes came to his, full of a nameless beseeching sorrow, and a faint flush of unshed tears passed over them. Cragg's business instincts went down before a stronger impulse of fatherly pity. Pattie's look made him think of Dot.
"Yes, that will do. Twenty pounds, taken by the year."
"Oh, thank you," breathed Pattie; "I'm so glad."
Then they started for the house, which was a good twenty minutes' walk distant. Cragg's suggestion of a cab was negatived. There was no need, Mr. Dale said; they would enjoy the walk.
Tokens of enjoyment were few; but they managed to get along, though at a lagging pace. Mr. Dale talked fitfully, remarking how the town was grown since his boyhood. Mr. Cragg observed that he could not recall any one of the name of Dale. Mr. Dale said, "No,"—he had been for three years at the big boys' school, and he would not be known to the inhabitants, unless by the former owner of the "tuck shop."
The house stood forlornly alone upon a patch of rough ground, which might in the course of time grow into a garden. At present it lacked soil, plants, and shrubs; in fact, it was no more than a stony little enclosure, surrounding an ugly small house. There were two rooms on the ground floor, with a kitchen behind, and three rooms overhead.