"Oh," Helen cried, "isn't that just like life! You bother and bother about something that doesn't exist and make yourself miserable for nothing. No, I won't do it."
"Do you?"
"It's a great fault of mine," she said.
He went round the back of the cart and lighted the other lamp. "Now I'm going to drive you home. That basket's heavy."
"I have been shopping," she explained. "Tomorrow a visitor is coming."
"Your father?" he asked quickly.
"No; he hasn't been again. He's ill, Notya says, and it's too cold for him here. Dr. Zebedee, aren't you glad to be back on the moor?"
"Well, I don't see much of it, you know. My work is chiefly in the streets—but, yes, I think I'm glad."
"We've been watching for you, Miriam and I. She'll be angry that I've seen you first. No; she's thinking too much about tomorrow. It's an uncle who's coming, a kind of uncle—Notya's brother. We haven't seen him before and Miriam's excited."
"And you're not."