"I haven't got it yet," said her husband, descending nimbly from his perch, and then, for it was dangerous to prolong a joke too far with his wife, he went and whispered in her ear.
Mrs. Deans' face slowly became irradiate with a joyful and appreciative glow.
"Well, Henry," she said, "you're no slouch, I tell you; I always knew your head was level."
"Guess that'll sicken him, eh?" chuckled Henry Deans, and began to unbuckle his harness-straps.
For the rest of the afternoon Henry Deans and his wife went about in smiling content, chuckling irrepressibly if they chanced to meet.
They had supper at six. Night was already setting in, for the days were not at their longest yet. About half-past seven, Henry Deans got his hat, and, his wife letting him softly out of the front door, took his way to the village. He soon reached its outskirts. Down the unlighted back street he went, across the short transverse one, until the side door of the Black Horse Inn was reached. Dan Follett answered his knock in person. There was a short colloquy between the two; then Dan went his way to the darkened bar-room, and, having declined an invitation to go inside, Henry Deans waited. Presently Dan returned with a bottle and, after a generous demur, accepted the money which Mr. Deans insisted on paying, saying:
"I'm not a church-goer myself, Mr. Deans, but I wouldn't begrudge giving a little now and again;" then after repeating his invitation, bade Mr. Deans a cheery "Good-night," and closed the door.
Henry Deans went home, hardly able to restrain his mirth. From far down the road he saw a narrow slit of light, showing the front door ajar for him. He slipped inside, to be immediately greeted by his wife.
"Did you get it?" she asked, breathlessly.
"I got it, and him, too," said Henry Deans; and they laughed together, as they put the bread and wine for the Lord's table in a basket.