Fancy said doubtfully:
"Lizzie ain't a pretty name, Alfie. I thought of Alfreda—Freda for short."
"Been thinking of that already, have you? Let it be Lizzie, Fancy. Promise me, dear!"
She promised, and then laughed gaily:
"Ain't we counting our chicks before they're hatched?"
"We might be worse employed."
"And if one comes, Alfie, I know 'twill be a big baby boy."
"You have it your own way. I allow it concerns you more'n me."
April was nearly over before Alfred went back. He might have been transferred to his dépôt, following the example of the hero. Sir Geoffrey was quite willing to pull more strings, and hinted as much to Sergeant Yellam. Alfred refused the kind offer, pledging the Squire to secrecy. Something he couldn't define, some dominating, irresistible impulse drew him to his own men. He admitted to the Squire that he was sorely tempted.
"I know my job, Sir Geoffrey. And I know how bad we are wanted."