“Bide there,” she whispered in Sol’s ear, “bide where ye be, an’ I’ll send her out to ye.”
“Must I unhitch Di’mond?” enquired Sally, appearing at the open door.
The firelight from within turned her fair hair to gold and outlined her slight figure. Sol felt the last trace of resentment melt as he looked at her.
“E-es, you can unhitch, my dear; an’ there’s a bit o’ rubbish in the cart what ye can have if ye fancy.”
“A bit o’ rubbish!” ejaculated the girl, pausing on the threshold.
“E-es, a bit o’ rubbish what was give me, but what I haven’t got no use for—so I make a present of en to you, my dear.”
And with that Grammer Roberts clambered down, and hurried into the house, exploding with laughter as she went.
Though she was discreet enough to leave the young couple to their own devices, she could not wholly conquer her curiosity as to the issue between them, and, pausing just behind the door, listened eagerly.
A startled cry, a man’s voice talking eagerly, a peal of laughter—and then silence.
“Sixteen shillin’ a week!” meditated grammer. “I hope they won’t forget to unhitch the harse!”