Some minutes after her departure he bent forward and tapped his pipe upon the hob, and his mother-in-law looked up, gazing towards him through the semi-darkness with a pleasant smile.
“Ye’ve got your baccy pouch handy, Sweetapple, haven’t ye?” said she.
John nodded, and she dropped her eyes on her work again.
Presently a heavy waggon went lumbering past without, and Lizzie looked up again.
“Wind blows hard,” she said. “D’ye think there’s a starm coming?”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” murmured John, indistinctly. Lizzie picked up her sock once more, but presently paused.
“I’m not sure if I covered the pens,” she said. “Shall us go out an’ cover the pens, Sweetapple?”
John stared in alarm. What was he to do now? Phoebe had not given him any instructions as to what he should say if her mother suggested going out to see to the pens.
“They young pheasants,” went on Lizzie, talking rapidly to herself, “they be terr’ble nesh. If a heavy starm of rain was to come on they mid all be dead in the marnin’. Where be the lantern?”
She rose hurriedly, looking round her with a startled air. John rose too, thoroughly frightened.