“Oh,” growled Luke sarcastically, “yo’ll gie me summat to eat to-day, will yo’? Well, I can do wi’ a bit at after yesterday. Bread and cheese were my dinner yesterday. I had to walk nigh upon six mile afore I could get it.”
“Yo’r dinner was waitin’ for yo’ here,” responded Jinny, with mild dignity. “’Twas keepin’ hot for yo’ all the afternoon.”
“I thought haply yo’ was goin’ to punish me by makin’ me clem all day. Yo’ was some mad wi’ me, wasn’t yo?”
“Nay, nay,” replied Jinny, still mildly, “not mad. I were nobbut sorry.”
All that week she redoubled her attentions to Luke, and when Saturday night came he was astonished and abashed when she put a little parcel into his hands. It contained a tie of the brightest hues and the richest texture obtainable for a shilling.
“If yo’ll weer that to-morrow, Luke,” she said graciously, “I’ll feel proper proud steppin’ along aside of yo’.”
Luke gazed hesitatingly, first at the tie, then at Jinny’s beaming face; then folding up the little packet he tendered it back to her.
“I couldn’t tak’ it on false pertences,” he faltered. “I’m no church-goer.”
Jinny swallowed down what appeared to be a lump in her throat. “Keep it all the same, an’ weer it to-morrow,” she said. “Theer’s one thing yo’ can do. Yo’ll not ha’ no objections to waitin’ outside the gate for me, an’ walkin’ home along of me?”
Luke eyed her suspiciously, but consented after a moment’s hesitation, reflecting that she could not possibly force him to go in.