"Little lass!" thought Sarah. "Why, the woman's five feet ten at least."
"Not but what ten years is a short enough time for a man and his wife to live together without quarrelling. Our Jane and I have stood it for three score. But, when John crossed over the hedge from Littledale and hung up his hat in Anderby as you might say, things weren't exactly plain sailing."
He paused and ran his fingers up and down the table-cloth awaiting further inspiration. His wife coughed apprehensively.
"There was some matter of a mortgage what had to be paid off. And a bad business it was too."
"Hear, hear!" commented Donald Holmes. Then realizing that emphasis on this point was undesirable, he relapsed into stifled silence.
"A bad business for those that had less sense than these young folks. But I understand that now the final payment has been made. I'd hoped to see them comfortably settled before I went, for John is a good lad and Anderby a fine farm, and now it seems that nothing is wanting to make us happy but a young Robson to hold it after they're gone. But I've no doubt——"
Jane had suddenly choked and looking up Uncle Dickie caught sight of Sarah's grim perturbation and Mary's crimson-flooded cheeks.
"I've no doubt that we—John—I was saying—auspicious occasion——"
His flow of eloquence was checked, but he remembered his carefully considered peroration and raised his glass.
"I want you to join with me in drinking their health. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you John and Mary Robson of Anderby Wold."