“Well, of all the little noddies! So I’m goin’ to turn thee out, am I, to shift for thysel’. Water’s thicker nor blood, I s’pose, ho, ho, ho!”
He laughed prodigiously at his own wit, and Maimie dashed away her tears and smiled a doubtful smile.
“Mester Barnes and me,” said Mrs Wharton solemnly, “have made up we’re minds for to get wed, him bein’ in want of a missus an’ me bein’ that awful lonesome wi’out your poor feyther, Luke, as I feel I mun put soombry in’s place.”
“Very well said,” interpolated the farmer, in a deep and admiring growl.
“At same time,” continued Mrs Wharton, “we both knows our dooty to our childer, an’ we think the best way o’ settlin’ the matter ’ud be for me to live here at arter we are wed, and for you, Luke, to stop on at the Pit wi’ Maimie for your missus. Mester Barnes an’ me,” she added, looking towards her newly-chosen partner for confirmation of her words, “’ull give an eye to things from time to time—me inside an’ him out. An’ ye’ll have to pay me rent for the place, ye know, Luke—”
“Allowin’ yoursel’ a fair profit, o’ course,” interposed Farmer Barnes, “a fair profit.”
“An’ Mester Barnes bein’ a lovin’ feyther, an’ mindful o’ what his poor missus ’ud wish,” continued the widow, “’ull help ye to start, my lad—for stock an’ that. Ah, ye may be sure we’s both do the best we can for our own flesh an’ blood.”
Luke smiled broadly on his future stepfather, and gripped his sunburnt hand, murmuring heartily: “’Tis very well done o’ you, I’m sure. Very handsome—ah, that ’tis.”
Maimie had crossed over to Mrs Wharton and was uttering on her side profuse expressions of gratitude and satisfaction.
Jim Barnes himself, however, looked slightly puzzled, and presently took occasion to murmur surreptitiously in Mrs Wharton’s ear: