"It might have been better."
"Lauk, a mercy, child! the women folk be never satisfied. 'Tis bad news enough for them as has to buy. But that's no consarn of ours."
Dorothy led Jack off to the stable, and the half-frozen yeoman turned in to enjoy his cheerful fire. Dorothy was bitterly disappointed. In spite of herself she had endorsed Mrs. Rushmere's presentiment that she would that night hear tidings of Gilbert, and she felt inclined to murmur against the old lady entertaining such foolish notions.
She rubbed down the pony, gave him his oats and a warm bed, and returned with a sadder heart to the house than when she left it.
After the substantial evening meal was over, and Rushmere had quietly lighted his pipe, and the women resumed their knitting, Mrs. Rushmere asked, in a plaintive voice,
"No news of Gilly, Lawrence?"
"Why, dame, what makes you think thir wor?"
Dorothy looked hard at the old man. She saw a covert smile on his wrinkled face, while his wife pushed her former inquiry.
"Mothers are allers hoping against hope, Larry. I felt so certain that you would bring us some word of him."
"Father, you have got a letter. I know you have," cried Dorothy. "I can see it in your eyes," and she sprang to his side.