“Plenty for you, Uncle Dan,” answered Avice heartily; and Bertha’s eyes lighted up at the sight of her father.
Dan came forward and sat down on the stool which Bertha set for him.
“Has it not been a charming day?” said Avice.
“Ay, it’s fine weather i’ Lincoln,” was Dan’s dry answer. “Up at smithy, it’s none so bad neither—yet. Just a touch of thunder we had this morning,—a bit of a grumble i’ th’ distance like: but I’ve known worser storms a deal. Ay, I have so!”
Avice quite understood what kind of storm he meant.
“How do you get on without me, Father?” asked Bertha.
“Well, I’ll not say I don’t miss thee, my singing bird; but I’m willing, when it’s for thy good. I’ve got—let me see—two buttons left o’ my blouse, and I think there’s one o’ my flannel shirt, but I’m none so sure. It’s rather troublesome, for sure, when there’s none o’ th’ sleeves; they keep for ever a-slippin’ up man’s arm; but I could put up wi’ that easy if there was nought more. It’s true I don’t want to pull ’em down while even comes.”
“Oh, Father, let me sew you some on!” cried Bertha.
“So thou shall,” said Dan. “But I’ve a bit o’ news for thee, lass. Susanna’s to be wed.”
“With whom, Uncle?”