“Do you want to see me hung, madam?”
“No, no, father; but nobody will know.”
“I know—you know—he knows; and there’s an end of it. Be off!”
The girl and boy both went out, and directly after the former made a sign which the latter interpreted to mean “Come round to the kitchen.”
As soon as the landlord was left alone he drew himself a mug of cider, lit his pipe, and chuckled.
“Wonder how my apples are getting on?” he said. “I must have a good cider year this time; ought to be, anyhow.” Then aloud at the door, “Keep an eye to the door, Polly,” he cried. “I’m going down the orchard.”
“Yes, father; I’ll mind.”
“That’ll do it,” said the landlord, laughing till his face grew as red as his own apples. “Nobody can’t come and accuse me of sending the boy, and they’ll never suspect her.”
He walked right down the orchard, and then crept quickly to the hedge, stooped down, went nearer to the house, and then watched and listened.
“Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed softly. “I knew she would. Good-hearted girl! There he goes.”