"Eh, dear? But you do go on about a wife; I ain't ready for one yet."
"I'll help you to get ready," said Harebell earnestly; "there seem a lot of cottages ready for your wife. This one, and Fanny's, and the Squire's."
"Have one of these little cakes, dear," said Miss Triggs, who wished to change the conversation.
Harebell ate the cake and thought hard. At length she said:
"You see, Tom, you've given up the beer, and you've got work, and now you've got cottages all round you, and the wife is the last thing and the best of all."
"'Tis to be hoped she will be," said Tom, half to himself.
"Well," said Miss Triggs, "I wouldn't go off and leave him, Miss Harebell, if he'd make his home with me. But he won't. 'Tisn't disagreeableness; the fact is, he have kept on sendin' his money home to mother, and he hasn't enough just now to start a house on his own, and he have got proud, and won't let me pay the rent and such like."
"You have spent too much on me all these years," muttered Tom. "Now we'll let my affairs bide for a bit, missy. Do you think you could find room in your home for a little chair I've been making in my odd moments? I brought it back with me when I come—"
He went into the back kitchen and brought out a beautiful little rocking-chair, which he presented to Harebell. Then he showed her some letters carved on the back:
F.T.T.
A.B.S.
I.T.D.