Tom's laugh was infectious, and brought a smile even to Meg's lips.
"It is very good of you not to be angry. Long John said you'd never get over it, Tom."
"Long John thanked his stars it warn't him, I fancy," said Tom, laughing again; and then he grew graver. "Come now, he's been telling you tales too, hasn't he? A pretty little story about me? Ay—I guessed as much. An' you weren't quite sartain that I wouldn't throw the poker at your head or swear at 'ee just now! Ye doan't allus understan' our ways, no more nor we do yours, lass; but, if ye'd believe it, ye ha'n't much need to be scar' to' us. Lord bless us, if ye only knew the times I've not said summat as has been on th' tip o' my tongue cos ye've been by, an' I doan't much enjoy seein' ye miserable an' shocked. Come now—ha'we made it up?"
He leaned across the table, and held out his hand to Barnabas' wife. Meg, who was at least as easily touched by kindness as by unkindness, looked up eagerly.
"Oh, Tom—I missed you when you weren't friends with me; I should like to make it up," she said, a little colour coming into her cheeks.
Tom shook his head with an odd, half-rueful smile.
"Ye are a white witch, lass! I didn't mean to believe 'ee against my own eyes, but I suppose I do. I'll never think aught bad of 'ee again. Will 'ee forgi'e me now?"
And Meg melted at once, accepting his apology with warmth.
"But you had better not say you'll never think anything bad of me again, for you don't know," said she.
A vision of that salt pool rose before her, and she shuddered.