"Worried?"
"Yes,—'fraid I shall be an old man before my time, Uncle Porges. Adam says it's worry that ages a man,—an' it killed a cat too!"
"And why do you worry?"
"Oh, it's my Auntie Anthea, a course!—she was crying again last night—"
"Crying!" Bellew had been lying flat upon his back in the fragrant shadow of the hay-rick, but now he sat up—very suddenly, so suddenly that Small Porges started. "Crying!" he repeated, "last night! Are you sure?"
"Oh yes! You see, she forgot to come an' 'tuck me up' last night, so I creeped downstairs,—very quietly, you know, to see why. An' I found her bending over the table, all sobbing, an' crying. At first she tried to pretend that she wasn't, but I saw the tears quite plain,—her cheeks were all wet, you know; an' when I put my arms round her—to comfort her a bit, an' asked her what was the matter, she only kissed me a lot, an' said 'nothing! nothing,—only a headache!'"
"And why was she crying, do you suppose, my Porges?"
"Oh!—money, a course!" he sighed.
"What makes you think it was money?"
"'Cause she'd been talking to Adam,—I heard him say 'Good-night,' as I creeped down the stairs,—"