Mrs. Wellin delivered this piece of news very fast and with evident gusto. It might have been thought she enjoyed inflicting it on her master.
The Rector laughed out.
"And this was a man sent me a week ago by the Birmingham Distress Committee—nine weeks out of work—family in the workhouse—everything up the spout. Goodness gracious, Anne, how did he get the money? Return fare, Birmingham, three-and-ten."
"Don't ask me, sir," said the woman in the sun-bonnet. "I don't go pryin' into such trash!"
"Is he coming back? Is my house to be painted?" asked the Rector helplessly.
"Thought he might," said Anne, briefly.
"How kind of him! Music exam! Lord save us! And three-and-ten thrown into the gutter on a week-end ticket—with seven children to keep—and all your possessions gone to 'my uncle.' And it isn't as though you'd been starving him, Anne!"
"I wish I hadn't dinnered him as I have been doin'!" the woman broke out. "But he'll know the difference next week! And now, sir, I suppose you'll be goin' to that place again to-night?"
Anne jerked her thumb behind her over her left shoulder.
"Suppose so, Anne. Can't afford a night-nurse, and the wife won't look after him."