“Come in, my dear, an’ sit down, do,” said Mrs Bolt. “I’m sure ye must be jist about tired. Come, Abel love, an’ see what grandma’s got for ’ee. A ripe apple won’t do en no harm,” she added, turning to Alice. “They golden pippins be beautiful to-year—jist so sweet as honey. I do r’ally think that dear child favours his granfer,” she exclaimed, as having reached the living-room, she divested Abel of his hat.
“I do wish father ’ud take to en!” ejaculated Alice, dropping into the elbow-chair. “We met en jist now hedgin’ in the Drove. He did seem to notice him a bit at first, but then he turned nasty about Ned as he do always do, an’ began glenin’ an’ carryin’ on about the Union.”
“There, love, don’t ye mind en; ye do want a lot o’ patience wi’ father. ’Tis what I do always say. Who’s to know it if not me? But he’ll come round in time—he’ll come round.”
“’Tis easy to say ‘in time,’” groaned poor Alice, “but we do find it so hard to get on now, mother. We’ve a-had sich bad luck, ye see. Ned had to spend the bit o’ money he’d saved on the furniture we wanted, an’ stockin’ the garden—’tisn’t as if we’d anybody to help us.”
Mrs Bolt eyed her daughter compassionately. She was a good-looking, fresh-coloured woman, with a kindly, good-natured face. Her daughter resembled her in complexion and build, but not in disposition, for Mrs Bolt was placid and easy-going, while Alice had inherited her father’s energy and quickness of temper. Mrs Bolt had been as much grieved as her husband at Alice’s unprosperous marriage, but, having protested in vain, resigned herself to the inevitable, and had indeed forgiven her daughter before the ceremony took place. Mr Bolt, too, had, to outward seeming, become reconciled with his daughter, though he steadily refused to permit her husband to cross the threshold, and to help the hapless couple in any way. Alice, too, was proud, and when her mother would have surreptitiously bestowed on her sundry dozens of eggs and pecks of potatoes, she had rejected the gifts.
“I won’t take nothin’ o’ father’s wi’out his consent,” she said once, bitterly. “An’ you do know so well as me, he’d rather let us all starve nor help Ned.”
“’Tis very hard, I’m sure,” said Mrs Bolt, now in a commiserating tone. “I did hope your husband ’ud better hisself, an’ earn better wage nor what father gived en. But he’s worse off now it seems.”
“He’s terr’ble bad off,” agreed Alice gloomily. “Jobs be so scarce round our way. An’ when Ned was out o’ work last spring along o’ his accident, we got into debt. There’s the interest to pay along wi’ everything else. We couldn’t afford to be too particular. Ned had to take the first place he could get—’tis but ten shillin’ a week he’s earnin’ now, along o’ havin’ a house free, ye know. But ten shillin’ a week’s soon gone.”
“’Tis, sure,” agreed her mother dolefully.
Alice looked up at the handsome, ruddy face now puckered with sympathetic distress, and hesitated.