“Be it you, Matt? Lor’, how you startled me I I were—I were—taking a doze.”
“I’ve been up yonder,” said Matt.
“Up wheer?”
“Up to the painter chap’s cart. He ain’t come back; and the man’s searchin’ for him all up and down the place.”
Fortunately it was very dark, so that she could not see the expression of her hearer’s face. She walked to the fireplace, and, taking a box of lucifers from a ledge, began to procure a light, with the view of igniting the rushlight fixed to the table. But in a moment “William blew out the match, and snatched the box from her.
“What are you doin’ of?” he cried. “Wasting the matches, as if they cost nowt. You’ll come to the workus, afore you’re done.”
The days passed, and there was no news of the absent man. Every day Matt went up to the caravan to make inquiries. At last, one afternoon, she returned looking greatly troubled; her eyes were red, too, as if she had been crying.
“What’s the matter now?” demanded William, who had left his usual seat and was standing at the door.
“Nowt,” said Matt, wiping her eyelids with the back of her hand.
“Don’t you tell no lies. You’ve heerd summat? Stop! What’s that theer under your arm?”