“I meant to congratulate you, Dan Barnett, our new head-gardener,” said Ellis. “Mrs Mostyn confirms your appointment. Success to you! Now come on to the bothy, and let’s get that poor fellow off. I’ll let him know of it by and by—not for a week or two yet.”
But John Grange, as he lay there, was feeling sure that the appointment would be given to Barnett, and he only sighed in a hopeless way, and felt that it was just. And just then he heard a step and pulled himself together.
“Come in,” he said, trying to speak cheerily. “No mistaking your fairy footsteps, Tummus. I thought you’d come and say good-bye.”
“Aye, and come to the station too, my lad. And I mean to come up to the orspittle once a week, to bring you a bit o’ fruit and a few flowers, if I have to walk.”
“Thank you, old man; thank you.”
“You need a bit o’ comfort, my lad, and I want you to get right. That old ’ooman’s drying hersen up wi’ crying about you. There wean’t be a drop o’ mysture left in her by and by. Ah! It’s a strange world.”
“It never felt so beautiful before, old man,” said John Grange sadly.
“Thought I’d try and comfort you up a bit. S’pose you know that Dan Barnett’s safe to be the new head?”
“Yes, I suppose so, Tummus.”
“Yah! Means ruins to the grand old place.”