“You young impudence! leave go my hand—you’ll find it heavy enough on your ear presently. I’ll warrant you have it in mind to fleece me out of something, so say your say and be done with it,” but there was no real anger in her voice.
“Nay, I am no highwayman nor money beggar; for that which you do for me I will pay you well,” he answered, again holding up the gold piece. “But would you not be more comfortable sitting?” He waved his hand toward the chair she had quitted, and the fine courtesy of his tone again called forth her laugh; but she took the hint and, turning, bade him enter.
“Well, where do we begin?” she said, when they were seated.
“My mother always begins by asking a stranger to have something to eat—and you have bonny blue eyes like hers,” he answered, with boyish audacity, pushing back her loose sleeve and patting the fat arm.
“’Tis a good place to start,” she answered, shoving him off; and would have called the boys to serve him, but he held her back.
“I wish no one but you to hear what I have to say. You may trust me—I swear it.” So she opened the cupboard herself and brought out plenty of cold food. Richard ate ravenously, praising everything (for in truth it had a heavenly taste), and telling her how blue her eyes were, and how pretty her patchwork—just like what his own mother used to make.
“A bit of a quilt for a bairn just born,” she said, and smoothed it with her great hands.
And Richard asked the child’s name, and said it had a sweet sound, and hoped it would have blue eyes with a twinkle in them like her own. And while he ate and talked she watched him narrowly. He knew it, but he did not care. Presently she said, as one asserting a fact:—
“You are from one of the prison-ships.”