“Yes; I’ll watch,” he said to the mug; “and it won’t be the first time. It arn’t much goes on as I don’t see.”
Dally hummed and ceased to look catlike in her quiescence, for her aspect was kittenish now, and her hum deepened every now and then into a purr.
“Strange things goes on in this here village,” continued Joe, gazing into the mug; “and I sees a deal of what young ladies and persons does.”
Daily’s purr would now have done credit to a Persian puss: it was so soft and pleasant and round.
“But of all the things as ever I’ve see o’ young ladies, I never see aught as ekalled the way as Miss Mary’s got strong and well.”
Dally hummed now, and her tones were those of a musical bee, while the trellis-work in the stocking grew and grew.
“Well,” said Joe, after getting the drop of froth to stand very high out of its beery-whirlpool, “I’m a-goin’ to play policeman now.”
He tossed the remainder of the beer into his throat, and set down the mug.
“There arn’t many jobs as comes amiss to me.”
He rose and walked out of the kitchen, and as Dally saw him from the window on his way round to the front, she gave her stocking-covered fist a dab down on the table and uttered an angry “Ugh!”