“I’ve never seen him,” said Mary. “I’ve only seen undergardeners and Ben Weatherstaff.”
“If I was you, I’d ask Ben Weatherstaff,” advised Martha. “He’s not half as bad as he looks, for all he’s so crabbed. Mr. Craven lets him do what he likes because he was here when Mrs. Craven was alive, an’ he used to make her laugh. She liked him. Perhaps he’d find you a corner somewhere out o’ the way.”
“If it was out of the way and no one wanted it, no one could mind my having it, could they?” Mary said anxiously.
“There wouldn’t be no reason,” answered Martha. “You wouldn’t do no harm.”
Mary ate her dinner as quickly as she could and when she rose from the table she was going to run to her room to put on her hat again, but Martha stopped her.
“I’ve got somethin’ to tell you,” she said. “I thought I’d let you eat your dinner first. Mr. Craven came back this mornin’ and I think he wants to see you.”
Mary turned quite pale.
“Oh!” she said. “Why! Why! He didn’t want to see me when I came. I heard Pitcher say he didn’t.”
“Well,” explained Martha, “Mrs. Medlock says it’s because o’ mother. She was walkin’ to Thwaite village an’ she met him. She’d never spoke to him before, but Mrs. Craven had been to our cottage two or three times. He’d forgot, but mother hadn’t an’ she made bold to stop him. I don’t know what she said to him about you but she said somethin’ as put him in th’ mind to see you before he goes away again, tomorrow.”
“Oh!” cried Mary, “is he going away tomorrow? I am so glad!”