“Why trouble yourself, lad?” he muttered. “She’s gone and he with her, and you’re here——”
“More’s the pity,” interrupted the other. “I have naught to make me want to stay.”
Joe leaned back and crossed his legs.
“Oh! I don’t know,” he said, “there’s the Ship; she’s your love—after—after Anny.”
Hal looked up quickly.
“The Ship?” he repeated slowly. “The Ship my love after Anny? Ay, maybe you’re right, mate, maybe you’re right; I had forgot her—ay, the Ship.” A slow smile spread over his face and he forgot to smoke.
“My love after Anny,” he kept repeating softly. “My love after Anny.”
And after Joe had gone home he sat long, looking into the fire, the slow smile still on his lips, but later still, when his eyes fell again on the two groats, he picked them up tenderly and put them back in the cracked cup upon the mantel-shelf, and then after carefully bolting the door he took his candle and went up to bed.
On their way home Big French and Sue had to pass Nan Swayle’s cabin, and, as they came toward it, Red noticed the red baleful eyes of Ben, the old tom-cat, peering at them from behind the shed.
“Nan’s at home,” he said, hugging French’s hand. “And Ben’s bin whip’t.”