He sat down in the big worn arm-chair near the hearth. Mrs. Giles said in a piping voice:
“I’ll bide wi’ Mary till Aggie be ready to take my place.”
“I’m ready now, Martha.”
Timothy growled out: “You bide wi me a bit, my girl. I’ve summat to say to ’ee.” As Martha slipped away he addressed John Exton: “Your father was allers my good friend.”
“Yes, yes; indeed he was—and is.”
Timothy thumped the stout oak arm of his chair.
“Ah-h-h! My lady turned ’un out. And she killed my lil’ maids! . . . An’ now ’tis Mary’s turn.”
John said quietly:
“Steady on. I thought I was dead in the trenches, but I wasn’t.”
Timothy rose up, lifting a heavy, misshapen hand.