“Why, don’t ye know?” responded Phoebe, cheerfully. “Mr Foster—Keeper Foster, ye know, he did take ’em all off your hands. He’ll see to the little pheasants right enough, and he did pay money down for the chicken. I’ve got it safe for ’ee. I did tell ’ee all about that.”
“So ye did, so ye did,” murmured Lizzie. “I was forgettin’—it do seem strange to ha’ no chicken to see to. I d’ ’low father ’ull miss ’em so well as me.”
“Eh?” said Mrs Caines, staring.
“I d’ ’low father’ll miss ’em,” repeated Lizzie. “He’ll be lookin’ to go out wi’ me last thing to see how they be a-comin’ on.”
“My dear ’ooman,” exclaimed Phoebe, “you can’t go walkin’ out in the street o’ nights here, fancy or no fancy. Ye mid be runned over an’ killed straight-off.”
“Runned over!” exclaimed Lizzie. She looked about her vaguely, and then sank into silence.
Mrs Caines drew her John into the privacy of the back kitchen as soon as he appeared, and, with many shakes of the head, explained to him the state of affairs.
“Poor mother be queerer nor ever to-night. Us mustn’t lose sight of her for a minute; there’s no knowin’ what she mid do. There, she’ve been carryin’ on about takin’ father out to see the pens and about bein’ so lwonesome—lwonesome here in the town, ye know. She says the noise an’ the voices an’ all do make her feel lwonesome.”
John Caines removed his pipe in order to grin at ease, and then put it back again; he was a man of few words.
“So I was thinkin’,” continued Phoebe, “you’d best keep an eye to her while I’m gettin’ childern to bed, an’ then so soon as I do come down I’ll look after her. She’d best get early to bed herself, poor wold body, she be fair wore out.”