“I woan’t talk of them no more. Only, it had to be done—you see, mother, there might be a little ’un as well as Thyrza....”
“Oh, Tom, a liddle baby fur you!”
He blushed—“There aun’t no knowing, and I’d be easier if....”
“Oh, but I’d justabout love a liddle grandchild. You need never fret over that, Tom. I’d give my days to a liddle young un of yourn.”
He kissed her, and they parted in love.
12
He hurried back to Thyrza, and they shut up the shop, and went out to the field by the willow pond. A green, still dusk lay over the fields and sky; no stars were out yet, but the chalky moon hung low over the woods of Burntkitchen. The distant guns were silent, only the bleating of lambs came from the Trulilows, and every now and then a burst of liquid, trilling, sucking melody from a blackbird among the willows.
“Hark to the bird,” said Thyrza.
“Maybe he’s got a nest full of liddle ’uns.”