“Oh, what a game!” he cried.
“What’s a game?” said Tim. “What’s the matter, Man? Is there some black on my nose?”
“No!” cried Rifle. “Why, you blind old mole, can’t you see?”
“See what?”
“Why Mr Henley and the doctor want to come and live out here. Look.”
“Well, what at? They’re talking to Ida and Hetty. That’s all.”
“That’s all!” cried Rifle, scornfully. “But it isn’t all. They want to marry ’em, and then we shall all live happily afterwards. That’s it. Isn’t it, Man?”
Norman nodded.
“Yes, I think he’s right, Tim. I am glad, for I think they are two good fellows as any I ever met.”
Rifle was right. For in the future all came about as he had said, saving that all was not happiness.