“Ay, he’s hankered right enough!” Thomas said, with so much bitterness in his voice that it startled even himself. Agnes came out of her meditation with a jerk, and the little cloud settled again on her face. She looked anxiously at her husband’s back, which seemed to have taken on the sudden harshness of his mood. “’Tisn’t as if Marget had wanted him, neither,” he went on, in a sort of burst. “She’s no call to make a to-do because she’s going to be quit of him at last. She took him because she couldn’t for shame do owt else, and a bonny time he’s had wi’ her and her ways! What, it’s been the talk o’ the country-side, the life she’s led the poor old chap! Coming away from her’ll be like coming out o’ hell. Ay, she’s been bad to him, has Marget—she has that! She never let him play his fiddle or owt, and give him the back of her tongue from morn to night. Such a rare hand as he used to be wi’ the fiddle an’ all! There’s folks still ax after Fiddlin’ Kit.” “Ay, well, poor old body, he’ll get nobody’s tongue here; and he can have his precious fiddle to bed and board. He can play till all’s black if he likes, and owt he likes—fiddle or toothcomb or big brass pan!” “That’s right,” Thomas nodded. “That’s a good lass,” but she turned away almost brusquely and without a smile. “We mun do our best for the old folks, I’m sure,” she went on. “One o’ these days we’ll want seeing to ourselves.” She began to move about the table again, but with downcast eyes. “I’m rarely glad to have him, and that’s the truth.” “Ay, an’ he’s suited as sheep in a turmut-field to come! Fair blubbered he did, the poor old chap, when it was fixed. I reckon he’d near give up hoping it would ever come off. Told me he couldn’t sleep for thinking on’t, he did that!” Tears came into his wife’s eyes, so that the pots in front of her melted into a shining blur. “Ay, well, he’ll sleep right enough to-night, I’ll take my oath! I’ve made him a grand bed, wi’ a piller as soft as soft, and a bit of a rug alongside for his poor feet. Rarely snod an’ heartsome the room looks, to be sure. You’d best slip up and take a peep for yourself.” He cast a glance at the new white-faced clock, which the uncertain old grandfather was trying to talk down. “Happen I’ll have a look after I’ve gitten back. I’ll likely miss the trap if I gang now. Any road, mind and see you hap him up warm. He’s shivered many a time at Marget’s, I’ll be bound!” “There’s plenty blankets on the bed, and I’ve put him yon quilt as we bought at Wilson’s sale. It’s as good a quilt as ever I see. I mind Maggie Wilson making it herself. As for t’ blankets, they’re the best there is in t’house.” “Ay, ay,” Thomas nodded, “hap him up. Give him the best we’ve got, and you’ll not be wrong.”