“Well, I’ve just come straight across the Pits, an’ as straight here as ever I could go, past the Dun Cow; an’ ain’t seen ne’er a sign of him. Want him particular?”
“I’m gettin’ nervous about him, Mr. Smallpiece—somehow I’m frightened to-night. He went out about six, an’ now it don’t want much to nine, an’ he only had a bit o’ candle that wouldn’t burn an hour. And he never meant stopping long, I know, ’cause of a case he’s got to set. I thought p’raps you might ha’ seen—”
“No, I see nothin’ of him. But I’ll go back to the Pits now, if you like, an’ welcome.”
“I’d be sorry to bother you, but I would like someone to go. Here, Johnny, go along, there’s a good boy.”
“All right, all right,” the keeper exclaimed cheerfully. “We’ll go together. I expect he’s invented some new speeches o’ moth, an’ he’s forgot all about his light, thinkin’ out the improvements. It ain’t the first time he’s been out o’ night about here, anyhow. Not likely to lose himself, is Mr. May.”
Johnny had his cap and was at the gate; and in a moment the keeper and he were mounting the slope.
“Mother’s worryin’ herself over nothing to-night,” Johnny grumbled. “Gran’dad’s been later ’n this many’s a time, an’ she never said a word. Why, when he gets after caterpillars an’ things he forgets everything.”
They walked on among the trees. Presently, “How long is it since your father died?” Bob Smallpiece asked abruptly.
“Nine years, now, and more.”
“Mother might ha’ married agen, I s’pose?”