"I believe so," she answered. "You've got to be fore-handed in matters of body and soul, Valentine Huggins; and them as ban't, get left behind in this world and forgot in the next."
She kicked off her slippers and drew on a pair of elastic-sided boots which stood by the fire. Then Susan brought her shawl and bonnet.
"Take the basket and I'll be after you," said Mrs. Weekes. "And as for you, Philip, you'll do well to wash up, bank the fire, put the kettle on the hob just near, to catch heat without boiling, and then come across to Jarratt's to see if there's anything I can set you upon. And, for the sake of pride, put a little more uprightness into your bearing. You slouch like a bachelor—always have; and yet afore another morning, if God so wills, you'll be a grandfather."
She whirled away, and the men were left alone. Mr. Huggins mopped his forehead.
"Lord, what a masterpiece among women! Don't she often bring the perspiration out on your brow?" he asked.
"Not now," answered Mr. Weekes. "I'm long past that."
Towards night the market woman's prophecy came true, and Philip was permitted to hold a granddaughter in his arms. The grandmother had saved the situation in her own opinion, and she only returned home, utterly exhausted in mind and body, at midnight. But Philip was even later, and the kitchen clock had rattled the hour of two before he left his son and returned to his wife. She slept heavily, but he ventured to wake her.
"Thought you'd like to know they be going to call the child 'Hephzibah,'" he said.
She uttered sleepy sounds.
"Jar's idea, I lay. I'm glad."