He scuffled back to his seat, for a familiar step was heard in the court; and, taking up his work, he began to sing merrily, after adjuring the boy to go on ahead.
“Hollo, mother!” he cried, as his wife entered the room: “brought the money?”
“No, Dick,” said Mrs Shingle sadly; “they don’t pay till next week.”
“Don’t pay for a week!” said Dick, letting his hands drop, but recovering himself directly. “All right!” he cried,—“so much in store.—‘Cheer up, Sam, and don’t let your spirits go down,’” he sang. “I say, mother, ain’t it time that Jessie was back?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle sadly; “she’ll be back soon. It’s very hard, though, and it seems as if it never rained but it poured.”
“Never does,” said Dick cheerily; ”‘So put up your gingham and drive away care,’” he sang. “Hang it, mother, I hope it won’t really rain before she comes back. Did she take the big umbrella?”
“No, father.”
“Ah! bad job; but never mind—perhaps it won’t rain. Go along, Jack, my lad: you don’t feel hollow inside now, do you?”
“Yes, please, master—ever so much hollower,” said the boy pitifully.
“I never see such a boy,” cried Dick. “Here, open the door, mother,—it’s Jessie. Hollo!” he cried, jumping up; “what’s the matter?”