“Well, Nancy, the tankard seems to be considered a very important piece of evidence, and Mr. Lovel is not inclined to claim the property for his son without it. However, he is having careful search made in Australia, and will probably hear tidings of it any day.”
“That’s as Providence wills, ma’am. It’s my belief that if the middle-aged gentleman was to search Australia from tail to head he wouldn’t get no tidings of that bit of a silver mug. Dear, dear, how this burn on my hand do smart!”
“You had better put some vaseline on it, Nancy. You look quite upset. I fear it is worse than you say. Let me look at it.”
“No, no, ma’am; it will go off presently. Dear, what a taking the gentleman must be in for the silver mug. Well, ma’am, more unlikely things have happened than that your bonny little ladies should come in for Avonsyde. Did I happen to mention to you, ma’am, that I saw Master Phil Lovel yesterday?”
“No, Nancy. Where and how?”
“He was with one of the old ladies, ma’am, in the forest. He was talking to her and laughing and he never noticed me, and you may be sure I kept well in the background. Eh, but he’s a dear little fellow; but if ever there was a bit of a face on which the shadow rested, it’s his.”
“Nancy, Nancy, is he indeed so ill? Poor, dear little boy!”
“No, ma’am, I don’t say he’s so particular ill. He walked strong enough and he looked up into the old lady’s face as bright as you please; but he had the look—I have seen it before, and I never could be mistaken about that look on any face. Not long for this world was written all over him. Too good for this world was the way his eyes shone and his lips smiled. Dear heart, ma’am, don’t cry. Such as them is the blessed ones; they go away to a deal finer place and a grander home than any Avonsyde.”
“True,” said Mrs. Lovel. “I don’t cry for that, but I think the child suffers. He spoke very sorrowfully to me.”
“Well, ma’am, we must all go through it, one way or another. My old mother used to say to me long ago, ‘Nancy, ’tis contrasts as do it. I’m so tired out with grinding, grinding, and toiling, toiling, that just to rest and do nothing seems to me as if it would be perfect heaven.’ And the little fellow will be the more glad some day because he has had a bit of suffering. Dear, dear, ma’am, I can’t get out of my head the loss of that tankard.”