“Well, let the lad step into ’em now, then,” exclaimed Jim Barnes jovially. “Let him step away. I don’t want to be gaffer at the Pit Farm; all as I want, my dear, is for you to come an’ be missus here.”
Mrs Wharton relaxed. When her wooer smiled so pleasantly and called her “my dear,” it was difficult to maintain an attitude of aloofness; nevertheless, though her heart was insensibly softening, her shrewd, stolid North-country head by no means followed suit.
“There’s a deal to be thought on, isn’t there?” she remarked. “Our Luke—if I was to let our Luke set up for hissel’ at our place, there’d be no doin’ anythin’ wi’ him. An’ the lad’s ower young too to be livin’ alone there—”
“Why need he live alone?” interrupted Jim. “Pick out a wife for him—that’s what ye’d best do—pick out a wife for him an’ let the yoong folks set up there, and you coom here along o’ me.”
Mrs Wharton smiled dubiously. “It met be a good thing in one way,” she conceded, “but still—well, ye see, I didn’t reckon to give up the Pit Farm to our Luke for a good few year yet. There’s all the little uns to bring up and eddicate. I couldn’t expect to be lookin’ to you for everything.”
“That’s true,” said Jim, becoming suddenly very solemn. He, too, had heard about the good bit of brass that was laid by, and, as every sensible person knew, when brass was laid by, it was laid by, until the time came for the fortunate possessor to leave it by will to somebody else. Still he had not reckoned on the possible contingency of having to feed and clothe at his expense the five younger Whartons.
After deep meditation, he struck the table with his fist.
“Why not make the chap pay ye rent for it?” he said. “That ’ud be the thing. Set him up there an’ pick him out a missus, an’ let the two of ’em manage for themselves, and pay ye a lump sum every rent-day—a good sum, mind ye, so as Mester Luke mayn’t be kickin’ up his heels an’ thinkin’ too much of hissel’. Coom,” he cried, “what d’ye think o’ that notion?”
“I think well on’t,” said Mrs Wharton, pursing up her lips, and nodding with a satisfied air. “I think ’tis a capital notion, Mester Barnes. I must just turn ower in my mind a bit, the lasses I’d like our Luke to choose from. There’s Sally Lupton now; she’s a nice little body, an’ folks say owd Lupton left a good bit to her mother.”
“Ah,” said the farmer, “she met do very well.”