Tregennis nodded. “Them’s the chaps as took it.”
“Then this is him!” said Mammy, and put her finger on the portrait next to Miss Margaret’s own.
Then she drew in her breath sharply. “Why, she be marryin’ a Sir!” she exclaimed. “They’ll never come here no more.”
She looked sadly round the tiny kitchen. There was the line on which Miss Margaret’s wet skirts had hung, time and time again. That was the rocking-chair Miss Margaret had sat in many a day when the evenings were turning cold. Under the table was the Dobbin that the Blue Lady and the Brown Lady had given to Tommy at the very first of all.
“An’ now she be married to a Sir,” she murmured, “an’ she’ll never come here no more!”
It was Tommy’s seventh birthday, yet gloom was upon them all!
The handle of the outside door was turned and Granfäather Tregennis stood on the threshold.
“Mornin’,” he said, nodding all round comprehensively.
Then he gave his whole attention to Tommy.