"I'll see what Tom got to say about it." Gray was eighteen and, with Richbell coming on, could well be spared. No doubt Mrs. Constantine Rosevear would think Wastralls ought eventually to go to one of her sons; but, in this world, a hen scratched up what she could for her own chicks.
"Gray think more 'bout 'ome than Richbell," Sabina said thoughtfully. "She's not after the chaps so much."
The mother's pride was touched. "Whenever she go up round the parish, there's always three or four pairs of eyes lookin' at Gray. She can always 'av a chap if she like, but she don't trouble whether she do or no."
"Is there any special young man, do 'ee think?"
"Well now, I don't care to say..."
Sabina's curiosity was aroused. "Now Isolda, there's somethin' gone on since I come in 'ere. Who is it?"
Mrs. Rosevear had spent some of the happiest hours of her life, discussing her children with this trusty friend. "No stranger," she said smilingly.
"Who then?"
"One of your 'inds."
The other opened her eyes. "My dear life, didn't she ought to be lookin' for some one better off?"