“Been and asked the new 'ousekeeper to marry you, I s'pose?” ses Alf, looking at 'im very hard.
His uncle shook his 'ead. “I never asked 'er; I'd take my Davy I didn't,” he ses.
“Well, you ain't going to marry her, then?” ses Alf, brightening up.
His uncle shook his 'ead agin. “She didn't want no asking,” he ses, speaking very slow and mournful. “I just 'appened to put my arm round her waist by accident one day and the thing was done.”
“Accident? How could you do it by accident?” ses Alf, firing up.
“How can I tell you that?” ses George Hatchard. “'If I'd known 'ow, it wouldn't 'ave been an accident, would it?”
“Don't you want to marry her?” ses Alf, at last. “You needn't marry 'er if you don't want to.”
George Hatchard looked at 'im and sniffed. “When you know her as well as I do you won't talk so foolish,” he ses. “We'd better go down now, else she'll think we've been talking about 'er.”
They went downstairs and 'ad tea together, and young Alf soon see the truth of his uncle's remarks. Mrs. Pearce—that was the 'ousekeeper's name—called his uncle “dear” every time she spoke to 'im, and arter tea she sat on the sofa side by side with 'im and held his 'and.
Alf lay awake arf that night thinking things over and 'ow to get Mrs. Pearce out of the house, and he woke up next morning with it still on 'is mind. Every time he got 'is uncle alone he spoke to 'im about it, and told 'im to pack Mrs. Pearce off with a month's wages, but George Hatchard wouldn't listen to 'im.