“There, to be sure! what a fuss ye do make,” cried he, struggling in her embrace. “What be all in such a stew about, eh? I bain’t a-goin’ off to fight the Boers, I tell ’ee—I be a-goin’ for to bide here and defend the country if the French or the Roosians comes this way. As like as not I shall be able to come backwards and for’ards pretty often to see how ye be all a-gettin’ on. There, I tell ’ee, ye should take more thought for I, an’ not go a-upsettin’ of I this way. ’Tis ’ard enough as ’tis!”
And here the large face, which was looking disconsolately over Annie’s shoulder, assumed a purple hue, and big tears gathered in Granfer’s usually merry eyes.
“There,” he added weakly, as freeing one hand from his daughter’s somewhat strangulating caresses, he produced a large red and yellow handkerchief, and proceeded to mop his eyes, “you did ought to help I instead of hinderin’ of I! You do all owe a dooty to Queen and Country yourselves.”
After this appeal to the better feelings of the family all opposition was withdrawn, and presently they fell to discussing arrangements for the carrying out his Spartan intent.
“My uniform is laid by safe enough, I know,” said Granfer; “but ’tis a question whether ’twill fit me or no—I’ve got a bit stoutish since I left off wearing of en.”
“Lard, man! the jacket ’ll not come within a yard o’ meetin’—ye be twice so big round as ye did use to be; an’ as for the trousers! There, there’s no use thinkin’ o’ them! They’d no more fit ’ee nor they would little Jackie there.”
“Them trousers as ye’ve a-got on ’ud do very well, though,” said Polly. “They’re dark, d’ye see.”
“I’ll have to ride,” said her father thoughtfully. “’Ees, bein’ in the Yeomanry, d’ye see, I’m bound to ride. ’Twouldn’t look no-ways respectful like if I didn’t offer myself harse an’ all.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what harse ye’ll take, wi’out it’s Chrissy,” returned Mrs. Sampson. “Ye’ll never get a saddle to stay on Vi’let or Duke—besides they’re wanted for ploughin’. An’ Bob ’ud never carry ye.”
“Well, Chrissy ’ud do, right enough. He was a fine mare in his day—I never see a better—there isn’t a colt as I’ve a-had from en as haven’t turned out well. ’Ees, Tom mid drive en up from the lower mead to-morrow morn, an’ we’ll rub en down a bit and make en smart.”