“Saw—saw me!” he cried fiercely. “Why, you—but there, I will not get out of temper with such a woman. Do you hear? Go, and never come here again.”
“Very well, Master Luke, sir, I’m going now,” said the woman, as she adjusted the strap across her forehead; “but you won’t be so hard as to speak to the coastguard. Don’t sir, please.”
The woman spoke in a low, appealing way; and after trying in vain to catch Luke Vine’s eye, she went slowly up the hill.
“Bad lot—a bad family,” muttered Uncle Luke uneasily, as he glanced sharply up at Leslie from time to time.
“Good thing to rid the place of the hag. Begging at my brother’s place for food and things every time I’ve been there. Yes. Good morning, Leslie, good morning.”
He nodded shortly and went into the cottage, cutting short all further attempts at being communicative.
Leslie walked steadily back up the hill to his works, and had not been at his office five minutes before Poll Perrow’s basket was creaking outside.
“I know you won’t be so gashly hard on a poor woman, Master Leslie,” she said. “It aren’t true about me getting brandy, sir. Let me have a drop in the bottom of a bottle, sir. You’ll never miss it, and you don’t know what good you’ll do a poor soul as wants it bad.”
“Look here,” said Leslie, “I’ll give you some on one condition; that you do not come here again to beg.”
“Not if I can help it, sir; but a well-off gentleman like you will never miss a drop. A pint will be plenty, sir, in as small a bottle as you can.”