'Beida's glance travelled to that forlorn child. "I'll not take any bet," she announced; "when you know that it may be necessary at any moment—he's that unaccountable." She lifted her voice so that the innocent culprit could not avoid hearing. "I don't speckilate on a thief," she added with vicious intention.
"Hush—hush!" said 'Bert, and glanced anxiously at his sobbing parent.
Nicky-Nan was the worst puzzled of them all. He had promised Sam
Penhaligon to do his best when the family shifted quarters: and now
Mrs Penhaligon would not hear of his lifting so much as a hand.
He spent most of the day out on the cliffs, idly watching the military.
Mrs Penhaligon had invoked the aid of Farmer Best; and Farmer Best (always a friend of the unfriended) had sent down two hay waggons to transport the household stuff. By four in the afternoon, or thereabouts, the last load had been carried and was in process of delivery at Aunt Bunney's cottage.
At a quarter to five Nicky-Nan returned to the desolate house. The front door stood open, of course. So (somewhat to his surprise) did the door of the Penhaligons' kitchen.
"They're all behindhand," thought Nicky-Nan. "Better fit the good woman hadn' been so forward to despise my helpin'."
He peered in cautiously. The room was uninhabited; stark bare of furniture, save for the quadrant key left to hang from the midmost beam; the "hellen "-slated floor clean as a new pin.
Nicky-Nan heaved a sigh. "So they've gone," he thought to himself; "an' so we all pass out, one after another. A decent, cleanly woman, with all her kinks o' temper. Much like my own mother, as I remember her."
He passed into his parlour, laid down hat and walking-staff, and of a sudden pulled himself upright, rigid.