It was quite late enough. She was going out a-milking no more, either morning or evening, and that was another thing which John William must be told. Mrs. Teesdale, like everybody else, was glad to have more things than one to speak about, when the one was so difficult, and even dangerous. She partially dressed, and left the room as quietly as possible. The first gray light was penetrating into the passage as she stole along it. When she reached John William's door, there was a noise within; when she opened it, she stood like a rock on the threshold—because she had been a plucky woman all her life—and a man was in the act of getting in by the window.
His middle was across the sill, and the crown of his hat was presented to the door.
“Who are you,” said Mrs. Teesdale sternly, “and what do you want?”
The man raised his head instantly; and it was John William himself.
“Holloa, mother!”
“Where have you been?” said Mrs. Teesdale.
“I didn't want to wake you before your time, so I thought I'd come in like this. That's better!”
He landed lightly on the floor; but his feet jingled; he was spurred as well as booted, and dressed, moreover, in his drab tweed suit.
“Where have you been?” said Mrs. Teesdale.
His bed had not been slept in.