"I ain't afeared I'll get left, Miss Winter," he answered stoutly.
The fair continued to be matter for general conversation. Amelia alone was not going.
"Too old," she said. "Half the pleasure of a revel be to know you ain't coming home to an empty house and the fire out."
"You'd better keep Jacob company," advised Margery. "I'm always wanting him to find new friends, because the old ones drop off so."
"There's no doubt Jacob's first friend is that ancient man, Billy Marydrew. And a very companionable, cheerful old bird he is. But he's up home eighty, I believe, and have got to go pretty soon," replied Adam.
"Yes," admitted Margery. "He's my husband's dearest friend, I do think—except one. Funny he should have one at both ends of life."
"The other being?" asked Adam.
"Why, his own youngest—Auna."
"And a very dear, dinky child to have for a friend," admitted Amelia Winter. "But in my experience it ban't wise for a man to fasten on his darter, specially if she's going to grow into a pretty woman before you can look round; for then comes love and good-bye. A maid shares her heart with her father only till the lover comes."
They parted at the gate of Shipley Farm and Margery followed her boy and girl, who had run forward. It was dusk and still. Already the owls hooted from the fir wood.