“They don’t look it,” replied Mr. Clare quietly.
“No, because they are such discontented dogs; they absolutely enjoy lounging on the street corner, and looking sulky. It helps the effect.”
“An unemployed dog,” replied Mr. Clare, “when he is also discontented, is very apt to be a dangerous dog. I hope the mill-owners may not find to their cost that it would have been cheaper in the end to run their mills on Gospel principles.”
At which view of the case the mill-owner was amused to an extreme.
“There comes Tina Kellar, Tina Schaefer that was,” said Louis, as he and Mr. Clare came to the turn which led to North Micklegard.
“How slowly and wearily she walks,” returned his companion. “I suppose her husband is still away?”
“Yes, but she had a letter from him yesterday. He says the West is the place after all. He has taken up a land claim out there, and, as soon as he gets his house built and things cleared up a little, will leave his partner in possession, and come home after his wife and family.”
“I hope they may do well,” said Mr. Clare thoughtfully, “but Tina seems scarcely strong enough for that wild life. How old is her baby?”
“About six months, I think. No, she is not strong, but the life can scarcely be harder than her present one. Since her husband left, she has been going out washing or house-cleaning whenever she can get a job. You know that they are living in our old house, and my father actually shook his fist at her last rent-day.”
“She was ready, then?”