A laugh from someone near made the girls spring up.
'So Bryda is like a turnip. That's good, I must say.'
'Jack, how you frightened me,' Betty said. 'I thought you was gone back to Bristol.'
'No, I have got another week's holiday. Uncle Antony sent word by the carrier that he would as lieve have my room as my company.'
'Oh, Jack, have you quarrelled with Mr Henderson?'
'Not exactly; but I am no favourite of his. Well, aren't you going to ask me to supper, Betty? I am hungry enough, I can tell you.'
'I must go and find out if there is enough supper for you,' Betty said, laughing. 'You and Bryda can follow when you like, but, Jack, don't fill her head with nonsense about going to Bristol. She will only be miserable if she goes to old Madam Lambert.'
And then Betty let the wicket-gate click behind her, and went singing through the orchard.
Jack Henderson was a giant in stature, with large ungainly hands and a somewhat slouching gait.
If ever a man was cut out for a country life it was Jack Henderson. But his mother was a little of the fine lady, and when her husband's brother offered to take Jack as an apprentice in his jeweller's shop in Corn Street, Bristol, she eagerly accepted the proposal, or rather, I should say, Mr Henderson at last gave a somewhat reluctant consent to receive Jack and polish him up as he polished his old silver and chased gold in his Bristol shop.