Peter took it, and dropped it, boot-lace and all, into his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, with no trace of whimsical nonsense now in his tone.
Then she took the clock and vase again from him, and they turned into Watermill Street. At a door she paused.
“I ain’t goin’ to try and say thank you,” she [Pg 261]whispered, “because I can’t. I know you’re a real gentleman—not only by your speech, but by the way you’ve treated me so considerate and good. I’ll pray to Our Lady for you as long as ever I live, and ask ’Er to give you whatever you wants most. And I’ll begin this very night.”
“Oh,” smiled Peter, “you queer, dear little girl!” But though he smiled his eyes were a trifle misty. It had been, after all, a mere freak of fancy on his part to play the squire of dames to a small maid-of-all-work that afternoon. He felt himself to be a bit of a fraud, undeserving of this wealth of gratitude. He crushed the small work-worn fingers hard in his.
And so the two parted. It had been a trifling incident; but, after all, it is rather pleasant to think of, as somehow characteristic of Peter.
CHAPTER XXVI
ON THE CLOUD
It was about the third week in January that Peter reached a certain town named Congleton, and leaving it behind him, walked towards a mountain named the Cloud.