“Friday,” answered the young Hussar.
Ah me! This was Wednesday already; to-morrow would be Thursday, and the next day Friday! I did not hear this, but I give you my word it took place.
“Are you coming to see the Vicar again?” asked the sweet voice.
“No,” said Joe.
They both looked down at the gnarled roots of the old tree—the roots did stick out a long way, and I suppose attracted their attention—and then Polly just touched the big root with her tiny toe. And the point of that tiny toe touched Joe’s heart too, which seemed to have got into that root somehow, and sent a thrill as of an electric shock, only much pleasanter, right through his whole body, and even into the roots of his hair.
“When are you coming again?” whispered the sweet lips.
“Don’t know,” said the young soldier; “perhaps never.”
“But you’ll come and see—your mother?”
“O yes,” answered Joe, “I shall come and see mother; but what’s it matter to thee, lassie?”
The lassie blushed, and Joe thought it a good opportunity to take hold of her hand. I don’t know why, but he did; and he was greatly surprised that the hand did not run away.