This was a favourite place with Joe Banks on a Sunday, and he would sit in contemplative study here for hours. For he said it was like having a holiday and looking at somebody else work, especially when the bees were busy in the glass bells turned over the flat-topped hives.
“I’d no business to hit a crippled man like that,” mused Joe; “but he’d no business to anger me. Be a lesson to him.”
He filled a fresh pipe, lit it by holding the match sheltered in his hands, and then went on—
“Be a lesson to him—a hard one, for my hand ain’t light. Pity he hadn’t coot away, for he put me out.”
“Now, what’ll I do?” mused Joe. “Shall I speak to the maister?”
“No, I wean’t. He’ll speak to me when it’s all raight, and Daisy and him has made it up. I’ll troost him, that I will; for though he’s a bit wild, he’s a gentleman at heart, like his father before him. Why of course I’ll troost him. He’s a bit shamefaced about it o’ course; but he’ll speak, all in good time. Both of ’em will, and think they’re going to surprise me. Ha—ha—ha! I’ve gotten ’em though. Lord, what fools young people is—blind as bats—blind as bats. Here’s Daisy.”
“It’s so nice to see you sitting here, father,” said the girl, coming behind him, and resting her chin on his bald crown, while her plump arms went round his neck.
“Is it, my gal? That’s raight. Why, Daisy lass, what soft little arms thine are. Give us a kiss.”
Daisy leaned down and kissed him, and then stopped with her arms resting on his shoulders, keeping her face from confronting him; and so they remained for a few minutes, when a smile twinkled about the corners of the foreman’s lips and eyes as he said—
“Daisy, my gal, I’ve been watching the bees a bit.”