“Well, I must be going,” said Tom, standing up. He felt rather angry with his father, who, he thought, talked like a “conscientious objector,” and was prostrating his mighty intellect to base uses. “But maybe the beer has addled him—he’s had a regular souse this winter, by his looks.” He said good-bye to the family, refusing his mother’s invitation to stay to supper, as he had promised to take Thyrza for a walk that evening. However, he asked her to come with him to the door, as there was something he wanted to say to her alone. Mrs. Beatup felt pleased at this mark of confidence, but all Tom had to say as he kissed her on the threshold was— “Mother, if anything wur to happen to me ... out there, you know ... you’d be good to Thyrza?” “Oh, Tom—you aun’t expecting aught?” “I hope not, surelye—but how am I to know?” Her face wrinkled for crying. “You didn’t use to spik lik that....” “Come, mother—be sensible. There aun’t no sense spikking different, things being wot they are. I dudn’t use to be married ... it’s being married that maakes a chap think of wot might happen.” “You’d want me to taake Thyrza to live here?...” “Reckon I wouldn’t. She’ll have her liddle bit of money, thank God, and maybe a pension besides. It aun’t money as I’m thinking of—it’s just—it’s just as she’ll break her heart.” “And I’ll break mine, too, I reckon.” Tom groaned. “You’re a valiant help to me, mother. I ask you a thing to maake me a bit easier, and all you do is to vrother me the more.” “Doan’t you go abusing your mother, Tom—wud your last breath. If Thyrza’s heart gits broke I’ll give her a bit of mine to mend it with—but no good ever caum of talking of such things.” “I woan’t talk of them no more. Only, it had to be done—you see, mother, there might be a little ’un as well as Thyrza....” “Oh, Tom, a liddle baby fur you!” He blushed—“There aun’t no knowing, and I’d be easier if....” “Oh, but I’d justabout love a liddle grandchild. You need never fret over that, Tom. I’d give my days to a liddle young un of yourn.” He kissed her, and they parted in love. 12 He hurried back to Thyrza, and they shut up the shop, and went out to the field by the willow pond. A green, still dusk lay over the fields and sky; no stars were out yet, but the chalky moon hung low over the woods of Burntkitchen. The distant guns were silent, only the bleating of lambs came from the Trulilows, and every now and then a burst of liquid, trilling, sucking melody from a blackbird among the willows. “Hark to the bird,” said Thyrza. “Maybe he’s got a nest full of liddle ’uns.” “And a liddle wife as can’t sing—funny how hen-birds never sing, Tom.” “Thyrza, I wish as I cud maake a home fur you, dear.” “Wotever maakes you think of that? The birds’ nest? Reckon I’ve got a dentical liddle home.” “But it’s wot you’ve always lived in. I never built it for you.”