Joe removed his pipe from his mouth, and gazed at the newcomer sternly.
“Hoo’s here, reet enough,” he returned. “Sit still, Jinny,” as the child, abashed, began to get down from the chair; “thou’s no need to stir—coom in if ye are coming, John,” he added, over his shoulder, “an’ shut yon door. The wind blows in strong enough to send us up the chimbley—Jinny and me.”
John obediently closed the door, and came forward. He was a big, loose-limbed, good-natured looking fellow, without much headpiece the neighbours said, but with his heart in the right place. As he now advanced, his face wore an expression, half of amusement, half of concern.
“Eh, whoever’d ha’ thought of her runnin’ off here!” he ejaculated. “Theer’s sich a to-do at our place as never was. Some on ’em thought hoo’d fallen down the well. Eh, Jinny, thou’lt catch it from mother. Why didn’t thou stop i’ th’ wash-house?”
Jinny began to whimper, but before she could reply, Joe Makin took up the cudgels in her defence.
“Stop in the wash-house indeed!” cried he. “Yo’ did ought to be ashamed o’ yo’rsel’, John Prescott. Stop in th’ wash-house on Christmas Day, to be starved wi’ cowd, an’ clemmed wi’ hunger. ‘I dunno how yo’ can call yo’rsel’ a mon an’ say sich a thing—yo’, as is her feyther an’ all.”
“Eh, dear o’ me,” cried John, “’tis enough to drive a mon distracted, what wi’ one thing an’ what wi’ another. I ax naught but a quiet life. Jinny, hoo woke the babby, and the missus, hoo got in one of her tantrums, an’ the childer was all fightin’ an’ skrikin’, an’ the whole place upside down—eh, theer’s too many on ’em yonder an’ that’s the truth, but if I say a word hoo’s down on me.”
“Yo’re a gradely fool to ston’ it, then!” retorted Joe. “The mon should be gaffer in his own house.”
“Oh, I don’t say but what he ought to be,” responded John, with a sheepish smile, “but ’tis easier said than done, mon: I weren’t a-goin’ to leave the little lass in the wash-house,” he added in an explanatory tone, “I were goin’ to let her out reet enough on the quiet. I’d saved a bit o’ dinner for her, too—”
“Oh, yo’ had, had yo’?” interrupted Joe, ironically. “Coom now, that’s summat. You weren’t goin’ to let her clem on Christmas Day—well done! ’Twas actin’ like a mon, that was—yo’ may be proud o’ that, John. I tell yo’ what,” cried Joe, thumping the table, “since yo’ take no more thought for your own flesh an’ blood nor that, yo’ may mak’ a present o’ the little lass to me.”