“Well, I’m pleased to ’ear it, I’m sure,” said the man, without being in the least ruffled, “and no ill-will bore, I can see, which there bain’t no cause, o’ course.”
“O’ course not,” agreed she. “Ill-will, indeed! I should like to know what for?”
“Least said, soonest mended, I s’pose,” assented the man with a jolly laugh. “And where might you be livin’ now-a-days?”
“Up to Wycombe,” answered she. “Me and my ’usbin’ come over ’ere to do a bit o’ hop-pickin’. ’E bain’t over-strong, and I thought it ’ud do ’im good. We be off to-morrer, and I thought I’d just step up and see yer wife.”
“She’ll take it very kindly, I’m sure,” said the man doubtfully, but rather glad to be rid of this visitor at any cost. “She bain’t very well—she bain’t never strong same as other women,” he added. “You might put a bit o’ spunk into ’er.”
And he led the way up the garden-walk.
Martha was half offended. She was not sure she had come to put spunk into her old sweetheart’s wife—and surely Dan Moss was very dull to what he used to be! She felt still more sorry she had come when she saw the awkward shyness of the little woman whom they disturbed nursing her babe at the fireside.
“’Ere be Mrs. Hewson, Martha Bond as was, come to see you,” said the husband, and added hurriedly to the visitor: “There, Milly ’ll get ye a cup o’ tea, ma’am, and you two ’ll ’ave a good bit of a gossip whiles I steps down to the village. She was just a-sayin’ she were a bit lonesome. Good-night to ye, and pleased to see ye look so ’earty.” And he bustled out as quickly as he had bustled in.
“You must excuse ’im,” said the young mother, blushing for her man, while she stilled the cries of the injured babe interrupted at his meal. “Dan’s allers in a ’urry to be off.”
“May be ’e ’ave got business,” said Martha, civilly.