“Don't ask me, Alf.”
“And it's all true, Mary?”
There was no answer, but the silence seemed satisfactory.
“And be sure you have yourself down here on Sunday, Alf, me son.” (“There's the old woman come back!” said Mitchell.)
“An' since the girl's willin' to have ye, and the ould woman's willin'—there's me hand on it, Alf, me boy. An' God bless ye both.” (“The old man's come now,” said Mitchell.)
. . . . .
“Come along,” said Mitchell, leading the way to the front of the tent.
“But I wouldn't like to intrude on them. It's hardly right, Mitchell, is it?”
“That's all right,” said Mitchell. He tapped the tent pole.
“Come in,” said Alf. Alf was lying on his bunk as before, with his arms under his head. His face wore a cheerful, not to say happy, expression. There was no one else in the tent. I was never more surprised in my life.