“He’ll be in before long, Miss. He’s doin’ finely, Mr Tom is; he’ll be one o’ the first men hereabouts,—you’ll see that.”
“Well, Bob, I’m sure he’ll be indebted to you, whatever he becomes; he said so himself only the other night, when he was talking of you.”
“Eh, Miss, that’s his way o’ takin’ it. But I think the more on’t when he says a thing, because his tongue doesn’t overshoot him as mine does. Lors! I’m no better nor a tilted bottle, I ar’n’t,—I can’t stop mysen when once I begin. But you look rarely, Miss; it does me good to see you. What do you say now, Prissy?”—here Bob turned to his wife,—“Isn’t it all come true as I said? Though there isn’t many sorts o’ goods as I can’t over-praise when I set my tongue to’t.”
Mrs Bob’s small nose seemed to be following the example of her eyes in turning up reverentially toward Maggie, but she was able now to smile and curtsey, and say, “I’d looked forrard like aenything to seein’ you, Miss, for my husband’s tongue’s been runnin’ on you, like as if he was light-headed, iver since first he come a-courtin’ on me.”
“Well, well,” said Bob, looking rather silly. “Go an’ see after the taters, else Mr Tom ’ull have to wait for ’em.”
“I hope Mumps is friendly with Mrs Jakin, Bob,” said Maggie, smiling. “I remember you used to say he wouldn’t like your marrying.”
“Eh, Miss,” said Bob, “he made up his mind to’t when he see’d what a little un she was. He pretends not to see her mostly, or else to think as she isn’t full-growed. But about Mr Tom, Miss,” said Bob, speaking lower and looking serious, “he’s as close as a iron biler, he is; but I’m a ’cutish chap, an’ when I’ve left off carrying my pack, an’ am at a loose end, I’ve got more brains nor I know what to do wi’, an’ I’m forced to busy myself wi’ other folks’s insides. An’ it worrets me as Mr Tom’ll sit by himself so glumpish, a-knittin’ his brow, an’ a-lookin’ at the fire of a night. He should be a bit livelier now, a fine young fellow like him. My wife says, when she goes in sometimes, an’ he takes no notice of her, he sits lookin’ into the fire, and frownin’ as if he was watchin’ folks at work in it.”
“He thinks so much about business,” said Maggie.
“Ay,” said Bob, speaking lower; “but do you think it’s nothin’ else, Miss? He’s close, Mr Tom is; but I’m a ’cute chap, I am, an’ I thought tow’rt last Christmas as I’d found out a soft place in him. It was about a little black spaniel—a rare bit o’ breed—as he made a fuss to get. But since then summat’s come over him, as he’s set his teeth again’ things more nor iver, for all he’s had such good luck. An’ I wanted to tell you, Miss, ’cause I thought you might work it out of him a bit, now you’re come. He’s a deal too lonely, and doesn’t go into company enough.”
“I’m afraid I have very little power over him, Bob,” said Maggie, a good deal moved by Bob’s suggestion. It was a totally new idea to her mind that Tom could have his love troubles. Poor fellow!—and in love with Lucy too! But it was perhaps a mere fancy of Bob’s too officious brain. The present of the dog meant nothing more than cousinship and gratitude. But Bob had already said, “Here’s Mr Tom,” and the outer door was opening.