At the sound of the voice the woman turned, and bent to impress her usual kiss on the flushed little cheek on the pillow.
‘Get up, Madlin,’ she said, ‘’tis close on eight o’clock, and you’ll be late for school again.’
‘What were you looking at?’ reiterated Madeline, after returning the caress.
‘Nought, lass, nought—’twas only one of them little steam tugs that stopped off the ferry and sent a boat ashore—but now the boat has gone back again, and the tug has steamed away.’
‘What did it stop for?’ asked Madeline, rising on her pillow.
‘Bless the lass, how can I tell? for nought that consarns us, be sure. There, get up quick, and I’ll cut the bread and butter.’
So saying, she departed, and Madeline, slipping from the bed, began to dress herself. She had pretty nearly completed her task, and had her arms raised, and her frock suspended above her head, when the sound of voices reached her from below.
She listened, and recognised the tones of Uncle Luke. Her heart bounded, her cheek flushed, a minute afterwards she flew down the stairs, thrusting her arms into the wrong sleeves, and alighted, radiant, panting, and half-dressed, on the kitchen floor.
It was Uncle Luke sure enough, but how strange he looked! His weather-beaten cheeks were ghastly—his nervous fingers worked at a big hole in his guernsey, he stared about him in perplexed silence, but when Madeline entered he quietly sat down and burst into tears.
‘It warn’t no fault o’ mine, mother,’ he sobbed; ‘don’t think it! He went on hisself, he jibbed the old barge hisself, and that’s how it all came about.’