“Nowt,” said Matt; “I were only wondering——”
“Then don’t go wondering,” exclaimed the good man rather inconsistently. “You mind your own business, and don’t be a fool!”
And he turned testily and gazed at the fire. But Matt, whose eyes were full of a curious light, was not to be abashed.
“Ain’t you well, William Jones?” she asked.
“I’m well enough,—I am.”
“It’s queer, ain’t it, that the painter chap never come home?”
“How should I know?” growled William. “Maybe he’s gone back to where he come from.”
“Or maybe he’s drownded? Or maybe summat else has happened to him?” suggested Matt.
“Never you mind him, my gal. He’s all right, never fear. And if he ain’t, it’s no affair o’ yours, or mine neither. You go along out and play.”
Matt went out as directed, and it was some hours before she returned. She found her guardian seated in his old place by the fire, looking at vacancy. He started violently as she entered, and made a clutch at the rude piece of ship’s iron which served as a poker.