'Certainly, superintendent; I am not a fool, an' I want my boy taught. But don't you men go chasm' those lads; they'll just enjoy it, an' you'll do no good. You leave Dickie to me, an' I'll have him home here in two shakes. Dickie's a high-spirited boy, an' full o' the wild fancies of boys. He's done this sort o' thing before. Run away from home once to be a sailor, an' slep' for two nights in a windy old tree not a hundred yards from his own comfortable bed, imaginin' he was what he called on the foretop somethin'. But I know well enough how to work on his feelings.'
'A father, ma'am, would be the savin' o' that lad.'
Mrs. Haddon dropped her work again and her dark eyes snapped; but Ephraim Shine had lifted one boot on to his knee, and was examining a hole in the sole with bird-like curiosity.
'When I think my boy needs special savin' I'll send for you, Mr. Shine—
'It'd be a grave responsibility, a trial an' a constant triberlation, but
I offer myself. I'll be a father to your boy, ma'am, barrin' objections.'
'An' what is meant by that, Mr. Shine?'
The widow, flushed of face, with her work thrust forward in her lap and a steely light in her fine eyes, regarded the searcher steadily.
'An offer of marriage to yourself is meant, Mrs. Haddon, ma'am.'
Shine's eyes came sliding up under his brows till they encountered those of Mrs. Haddon; then they fell again suddenly. The little widow tapped the table impressively with her thimbled finger, and her breast heaved.
'Do you remember Frank Hardy, Ephraim Shine?'