XXI.
Grannie came to Elm Cottage next morning with two duck eggs for Pete's breakfast. She was boiling them in a saucepan when Pete came downstairs.
“Come now,” she said coaxingly, as she laid them on the table, with the water smoking off the shells. But Pete could not eat.
“He hasn't destroyed any food these days,” said Nancy. A little before she had rolled her apron, slipped out into the street, and brought back a tiny packet screwed up in a bit of newspaper.
“Perhaps he'll ate them on the road,” said Grannie. “I'll put them in the hankerchief in his hat anyway.”
“My faith, no, woman!” cried Nancy. “He's the mischief for sweating. He'll be mopping his forehead and forgetting the eggs. But here—where's your waistcoat pocket, Pete? Have you room for a hayseed anywhere? There!... It's a quarter of twist, poor boy,” she whispered behind her hand to Grannie.
Thus they vied with each other in little attentions to the down-hearted man. Meantime Crow, the driver of the Douglas coach, a merry old sinner with a bulbous nose and short hair, standing erect like the steel pins of an electric brush, was whistling as he put his horses to in the marketplace. Presently he swirled round the corner and drew up at the gate. The women then became suddenly quiet, and put their aprons to their mouths, as if a hearse had stopped at the door; but Pete bustled about and shouted boisterously to cover the emotion of his farewell.
“Good-bye, Grannie; I'll say a word for you when I get there. Good-bye, Nancy; I'll not be forgetting yourself neither. Good bye, lil bogh,” dropping on one knee at the side of the cradle. “What right has a man's heart to be going losing him while he has a lil innocent like this to live for? Good-bye!”
There was a throng of women at the gate talking of Kate. “Aw, a civil person, very—a civiller person never was.”—“It's me that'll be missing her too. I served her eggs to the day of her death, as you might say. 'Good morning, Christian Anne,' says she—just like that. Welcome, you say? I was at home at the woman's door.”—“And the beautiful she came home in the gig with the baby! Only yesterday you might say. And now, Lord-a-massy!”—“Hush! it's himself! I'm fit enough to cry when I look at the man. The cheerful heart is broke at him.”—“Hush!”
They dropped their heads so that Pete might avoid their gaze, and held the coach-door open for him, expecting that he would go inside, as to a funeral. But he saluted them with “Good morning all,” and leapt to the box-seat with Crow.