He fought against that feeling now, calling his temper to his aid.
“What folly is this about the dog?” he asked.
“Father thinks,” she replied demurely, “that if thieves come it can be heard better at the gate.”
“Heard? I should think it could be heard in Bowness!”
“Just so.”
“But your father——”
“Father!” sharply, “go to bed!” And then to the visitor, “Give him a ha’penny,” she muttered. “He won’t go without!”
“But I don’t care——”
“I don’t care either—which of you goes!” she retorted. “But one of you goes.”
Sullenly he produced a copper and put it in the old man’s quivering hand—not for the first time by several. Hinkson gripped it, and closing his hand upon it as if he feared it would be taken from him, he hobbled away, and disappeared behind the dingy hangings of the box-bed.