“What’s that child doing here at this time o’ the evening?” he enquired, roughly.
“He did beg so hard to sit up till granfer come back,” explained Mrs Bolt, “we had to let en bide. There, nothin’ ’ud satisfy him. I give him his sugar-stick, but that wouldn’t do. He said he must stop up an’ smoke his pipe wi’ granfer. He’s been a-savin’ it till ye come—there’s but just the leastest little corner bit off, look-see.”
But granfer did not look. He sat heavily down in his chair and glared at Alice, who was knitting a woollen comforter.
“What be doin’?” he enquired, savagely.
She glanced up with a smile. “You mustn’t look,” she said. “It’s a Christmas present.”
“Ye be a-goin’ to send it out to Ned in Ameriky, I suppose,” he suggested sarcastically.
“It’s not for Ned,” returned Alice quickly, and Mrs Bolt added in a reproachful tone:—
“The poor maid be a-makin’ it for you, father.”
There was a pause, during which the farmer recalled his injury and resolved not to be mollified.
“Christmas,” he said slowly. “Christmas. I d’ ’low Ned ’ull feel hisself a bit lonely spendin’ Christmas in Ameriky. Ye’d best write an’ tell en to come back an’ spend it wi’ us.”