“Seems as though God A’mighty did ought to give me another chance,” she said with a sigh, “if it were on’y for this. For I shan’t be able to pay ye back else.”
He had opened the cranky door, and they had passed out into the moonlit frostiness.
“Never think o’ that,” said he.
“I shall though,” she declared. “Ye must show me your ’ome, so as I shall know where to find ye to pay it back agin—when I do get work.”
“My ’ome!” echoed he.
And he turned and looked at the deserted cottage with its closed, silent windows.
From the chimney a faint line of smoke from the remnants of the fire that he had lit was stealing up straight into the calm, cold air—ascending steadily, like incense, into the sky.
He caught his breath.
“This’d be the best place,” he said. “I’ll come ’ere next Saturday night and see if ye’re anywheres about. I’d like to ’ear ’ow ye was a-gettin’ on, but I don’t want the money.”
They had crossed the garden by this time, and stood at the gate.