"Well, old woman," says Jim, with a great sigh of relief at being home at last.
He speaks in gasps as usual, as if, after his day's hard labour, he finds talking an effort. Mrs. Podmore takes a blue-cotton handkerchief containing an empty basin from him--Jim's favourite dinner is a meat-pudding, in the making of which his wife would not yield the palm to the Queen's cook. Snap, the faithful dog, greets Mrs. Podmore with sniffs at the hem of her gown, and when this duty is performed, leaps upon the bed and licks Pollypod's face.
"Did you enjoy yourself--old woman?" asks Jim Podmore.
"That we did. We've had such a beautiful day, Jim!"
Jim nods, and his hand wanders to Pollypod's neck, and caresses it.
"What a colour--she's got--mother!"
"Bless her little heart!" is the reply. "It's done her a power o' good."
He sees the flowers, and takes them in his hand.
"They're for you, Jim," said Mrs. Podmore; "Polly's present for father. She tried to keep awake to give them to you; but she could not keep her little eyes open."
He turns the flowers about tenderly, and a troubled look that was in his eyes when he came home vanishes as he lays his great dirty face and bushy head on the pillow. But when he sits down to his supper, with the flowers before him to give an additional zest to his food, the troubled look returns. Mrs. Podmore says quietly,