“Her mother’s wi’ her,” returned Dick. “I’ll go home for a bit in a fortnight or so, but I must be back in October.”
He chirruped to the child, swinging him high in the air, till Baby Jim crowed and laughed again. Soon Mrs. Whittle’s task was accomplished, and she handed back the waistcoat to its owner, receiving his profuse thanks in return. As she walked away through the chequered light and shade Dick looked after her.
“Some folks is luckier nor others,” he said. “Keeper can live in the woods and have wife and child anigh him, too; but I, if I be to live at all, must live alone.”
Then he thought of the little brown wife in that far-away village, and wondered with a sudden tightening of the heart-strings how she was getting on; but presently he whistled again, in time to the rhythmic strokes of his axe, as he pointed the sowels for his next lot of hurdles.
On the following morning when Betty was sweeping out her house a shadow fell across the threshold, and, looking up, she descried the woodman.
“I’ve brought ye a new besom,” said he, with a somewhat shamefaced smile. “One good turn do deserve another, Mrs. Whittle.”
“Thank ye kindly, I’m sure,” returned Betty, with a bright smile. “I never thought of your making any return for the few stitches I set for ye. The besom is a beauty, Mr. Tuffin.”
“Glad ye like it,” said Dick, turning to take his leave.
“If ye’ve any other bits o’ mending, Mr. Tuffin,” Betty called after him, “I’d be pleased to do ’em for ye.”
“Nay, now, I don’t like puttin’ too much on your good nature, Mrs. Whittle,” said Dick, glancing over his shoulder with a sheepish smile.