“Phew!” whistled the fisherman; “it’s rather hot, my lad, sitting here in the sun.”
“Perhaps some day I shall find out who did it, Dick.”
“Hah—yes,” said the man, staring at him hard. “Then you won’t come?”
“Yes, I will,” cried Morton. “It’s so cowardly not to come. I shall be there;” and, stopping to pick up the flower the child had again dropped, the pretty little thing smiled in his face, and he bent down and kissed it before striding away.
“Think o’ that, now,” said Mrs Miggles, coming to the door.
“Think o’ what?” growled her lord, breaking off an old sea-ditty he was singing to the child.
“Why, him taking to the little one and kissing it. How strange things is!”