“Your wife ought to make you get your livin’ some other way,” she added seriously.
“It couldn’t be done now,” said the woodman. “I have done nothin’ but fell trees an’ plesh hurdles since I was quite a little ’un. I couldn’t do naught else,” he added somewhat dreamily; “I fancy I couldn’t bide anywhere except in a wood.”
“Well, ’tis a fine life,” said she, willing to say something civil.
“Yes, pleasant enough,” he agreed. “If I could tole my missus about I’d never complain; but, there! it can’t be done.”
He tossed the faggot on one side, and began to collect materials for another. Betty noticed a great rent in his fustian waistcoat, and, commenting upon the fact, volunteered to mend it.
“’Tis awkward for ye having no one to sew for ye,” she added, as Dick gratefully divested himself of the garment in question.
“’Tis that,” agreed Tuffin. “I do move about so often the folks where I lodge do never seem to take a bit of interest in I. My wife, she do fair cry at times when she do see the state my things be in. Come, I’ll hold the youngster for ye, Mum.”
“Oh, he’ll be all right on the soft grass here!”
“Nay, I’d like to hold ’en if ye’ll let me. I want to get my hand in, d’ye see. There’ll be a little un at our place very soon.”
“I do call it unfeelin’ of ye to leave your wife alone at such a time,” remarked Betty reprovingly.