Part 18 (1/2)

”To see my mother,” said d.i.c.k, while Lucy flung a triumphant look at the happy mother, who drew the lad fondly to her side.

When, at last, Lucy rose to take her leave, it was getting dark, and Mary said she would put on her bonnet and go with her a little way.

”Not to-night, Mary. I've chattered so much and so long that your mother ought to be in bed. I can manage very well by myself.”

”I'll go with you, Miss Blyth,” said d.i.c.k, jumping to his feet.

”Oh! You think that after you've been working like a Briton all the day in Farmer Crabtree's field, and walked nearly three miles beside to see your mother”--here there was another glance at Mrs.

Morris--”and three miles to go back, I'm going to let you walk an extra mile with me! Why, bless the boy, you must think I've a heart as hard as my father's anvil.”

Meanwhile Piggy Morris had been silently re-lacing his boots, and now, getting up from his chair, he reached down his hat from a nail, and said, quietly,--

”Never mind, d.i.c.k, my lad, I'll see Miss Blyth home.”

Piggy Morris, the surly and sour, could not have surprised them more if they had seen a pair of wings sprouting from his shoulder-blades.

Lucy quietly said, ”Oh, thank you, Mr. Morris, you are kind,” and giving Ursa Major her arm, the oddly-matched pair turned their steps towards Nestleton Forge.

”What's c.u.m to feyther?” said d.i.c.k, as one who waits for a reply.

”Goodness knows,” said Mary; ”I never knew him do such a thing before.”

”My dear,” said Mrs. Morris, ”it's Lucy Blyth's magic. That girl's an angel if ever there was one. If your fayther would only go to meeting n.o.body knows what might happen.” Here the good woman sighed at what appeared to her a vista of delight too good to hope for.

Meanwhile Lucy Blyth and her boorish escort were making their way through the wintry night towards Nestleton Forge. Happily for Morris, with whom words were always few, and usually gruff, his companion rushed into conversation--not that she was that social nuisance, a wordy woman, but that she was a born politician, and meant to turn the golden moments to good account.

”Mrs. Morris is much better and brighter to-night. Don't you think so?”

”Yes,” was the emphatic reply, ”because she's had you to cheer her up.

She does get desperate worritsome at times, though.”

”Why, you see, Mr. Morris, it is hard for her to be almost always a prisoner in her chair, and as for her sick headaches, I don't know how she does to bear them.”

”Yes, I daresay it's hard enough,” was the brief reply.

”Mary's a great comfort to her,” said Lucy. ”She is so quiet and gentle, and nurses her so tenderly. I often wonder how she manages to get through her work so well. I _do_ like Mary.”

”Yes, Poll's a good la.s.s,” said Morris, laconically.

”How kind and nice it is that those boys should come so often and so far to see their mother! I _was_ pleased to hear about Bob.”

”What about Bob?” said Ursa Major.

”Why, on Tuesday, after his day's work, he walked all the way to Kesterton and bought his mother some oranges.”

”Did he?” quoth Bruin.

”Yes, he did, and d.i.c.k's as kind and good as he is. I _do_ like those lads.”