But her blue eyes had acquired a scared look of late, and the bloom had faded in her cheeks. What else was to be expected? The wolf was always at the door, and the fear of it was perpetually present in the heart of the wife and mother.
Farmer Bolt, in the intervals of chopping at his twigs and superintending the leisurely tossing of “roots” into the cart, found time to scan the windings of the Drove, and had indeed observed his daughter long before she had caught sight of him. It may be presumed that he took note of her hasty endeavours to make herself and her family presentable, yet he appeared to be absorbed in his own labours when she halted beneath the bank on which he was stationed.
“Be that you, father? Look, Abel, look-see, ’tis granfer!”
Mr Bolt parted the thin screen of shoots surmounting the hedge and peered over.
“’Tis you, be it?”
“It’s me. I be just goin’ down to the house to have a chat wi’ mother.”
“Ah,” said the farmer.
He lifted his bill-hook and examined it as though he had never set eyes on it before; then he ran his finger thoughtfully along the edge.
“That’s granfer, look-see,” repeated Alice in a tone of assumed cheerfulness. “Look at granfer’s hedgin’ hook, Abel! Call ‘Granfer,’ lovey!”
“Gran-fer!” cried Abel, obediently.