"He'll come, sir," said Ruth. "He's humble. I will say that for Ern."
"Send him to me," said the old schoolmaster threateningly. "I'll dress him down. What he wants is to get religion."
"He's got religion, sir," answered simple Ruth. "Only where it is it's no good to him."
That evening, when Ern entered, heavy once again with defeat, she told him the news. At the moment she was standing at the sink washing up, and did not even turn to face him. He made as though to approach her and then halted. Something about her back forbade him.
"It shan't happen again, Ruth," he said.
She met him remorseless as a rock of granite.
"No, not till next time," she answered.
He stood a moment eyeing her back hungrily. Then he went out.
He was hardly gone when his father lumbered into the kitchen. The old gentleman's eyes fell at once on the clock-deserted mantel-piece.
"Gone to be mended," he said to himself, and took out of his waistcoat pocket the huge old gold watch with a coat of arms on the back, beloved of the children, that had itself some fifteen years before made a romantic pilgrimage to Mr. Goldmann's in Sea-gate. Then he bustled to the cupboard where was the box containing a hammer and a few tools. He put a nail in the wall, hammered his thumb, sucked it with a good deal of slobber, but got the nail in at last.