“When’s ’e comin’, Mum?”
“Lor’, if I knew that I wouldn’t be near off me ’ead this minute!” said the mother.
Robin and Barry came in a little later, in a frame of mind divided between triumph and depression; pride in their unlawful exploit having become damped, as they neared home, by melancholy forebodings on the subject of Mr. Merritt’s pig. They were trying to calculate the probable value of the victim to its owner, should it have been spared to arrive at the dignity of full growth, when upon their astonished eyes burst the vision of a crowded kitchen. At the table were seated a haggard woman and two small boys—the latter shining from the effects of a recent and thorough hot bath, and clad only in clean shirts. Mrs. Hurst was moving about, plying them with food; while Polly, in a corner, her face alight with happiness, fed an equally-scrubbed baby. The baby sat on her knee, dipped its fingers in its food, and clawed its nurse’s face with them, while the nurse beamed, and uttered incoherent words of pride. Danny was filling kettles with the air of one who insists on joining in a general upheaval.
Robin and Barry stared—not with more amazement than was shown on the faces of the strangers, as the new-comers, guns in hand, halted in the doorway. Mrs. Hurst looked up and nodded brightly.
“Why, there are my warriors!” she said. “Any rabbits? I hope so, because I shall want some badly for to-morrow. We have guests, you see.”
The warriors looked at each other blankly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mother,” said Robin, in a voice of tragedy. “We haven’t got one!” Resolve seized her. “Come on, Barry—we’re sure to get some on the flat by the creek if we hurry.” Her face fell. “Oh, and we haven’t milked!”
“I done all the feedin’ and milkin,’ Miss Robin,” spoke Danny, grinning.
“Danny, you’re a brick! Hurry up, Barry—it’s nearly dark already.” They dashed from the kitchen and clattered across the yard.
One of the visitors uplifted his voice in the first remark he had made since his arrival at Hill Farm.