“Yer wife’s tired,” she added. “She ought to turn in too. The brat ain’t very old yet.”
“Tired, be she?” said Moss, and scratched his head. “Well, if ye won’t, ye won’t,” he added presently. “So, it’s good-night to ye.”
“Good-night,” echoed the husband and wife in one breath as they turned down the hill.
Moss stood a minute looking after them, whistling a rowdy, popular song in a slow, contemplative sort of way.
Then he turned with a chuckle.
“Rum lot,” he said to himself as he opened his garden-gate.
At the porch the little wife stood waiting. Her eyes were dry and there was a pretty smile on her lips.
“Ye are nice and early to-night,” she said affectionately.
“Why, ye asked me to come ’ome early, didn’t ye?” he whispered, pinching her ear.
And she did not say that she always made that request without it’s being always attended to.