Mrs. Morris stood stock still, one hand folded over the other, after the style of the superior housekeeper receiving orders from her mistress.
"Some mistake or other," muttered Morris, holding back.
"Yes, it's a mistake," she agreed. She looked at the farmer. "That aint my husband."
"Not!" The farmer's jaw fell.
"And Molly she never was my wife, though she was to have been, if she hadn't gone and jilted me."
"Well, I never!" uttered Mr. Paine. "And if you're not Phil Morris, who are you, man?"
"I'm Phil Morris, sure enough. But I aint Molly's husband—worse luck." He turned to the girls. "Nor I aint their father. Wish I was!"
"Never been married!" The farmer was all astray still.
"Well, I did marry, and she's dead, and I've come back. I'd no luck out there, and I thought I'd try the old country agen. And a sort of a wish corned over me, to see if Molly was alive." He turned to Mrs. Morris. "And you married that other chap, did you?" She nodded, and his gaze went to Mr. Paine. "Whatever did you mean—saying she wasn't married?"
The farmer seemed dazed, and he spoke slowly.