“Mak’ a present!” stammered the other, staring at him.
“Ah,” returned Joe, sternly, “you don’t vally her no more nor if hoo wer’ an owd dish-clout—lettin’ her be thrown out in the wash-house an’ all—but I’m made different. Your house is too full, yo’ say—well mine’s empty—awful empty,” he added with something like a groan. “Theer’s too many on yo’ yon, at your place—well, then, I’ll take Jinny off ye.”
John still stared at him without speaking, and Joe continued vehemently.
“I say I’ll take her off yo’. There’ll ’appen be more peace at yo’r place when the little wench is out of the road; an’ they curls o’ hers may stop on her head instead o’ being cut off an’ thrown in the midden—an’ if hoo axes for a bit o’ sugar hoo shan’t get hit wi’ a spoon. Theer now,” he summed up sternly.
John scratched his head and reflected. Jinny was his own flesh and blood, and he loved her after his fashion; but there was no doubt things were very uncomfortable at home, and if she were not there, there was likely to be more peace. If Joe really meant what he said he might be worth hearkening to.
“Yo’ seem to have taken a wonderful fancy to the little lass,” he said hesitatingly; “hoo’s a good little lass enough, but—I reckon yo’re laughin’ at me.”
“I wer’ never more in earnest i’ my life,” said Joe. “Coom, it mun be one way or t’other. Mun I have her?”
“Oh, you can have her reet enough!” returned the father, with a shamefaced laugh. “Would ye like to live here, Jinny?”
“Eh, I would!” she cried. “Eh, that I would! He shall be my new daddy.”
A pang shot through her own father’s heart.