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"
"Well," he answered, rubbing his head, "she keeps pretty middlin', I
think."
"Let's see--when?" asked Mrs. Morel.
"Well, I shouldn't be surprised any time now."
"Ah! And she's kept fairly?"
"Yes, tidy."
"That's a blessing, for she's none too strong."
"No. An' I've done another silly trick."
"What's that?"
Mrs. Morel knew Barker wouldn't do anything very silly.
"I'm come be-out th' market-bag."
"You can have mine."
"Nay, you'll be wantin' that yourself."
"I shan't. I take a string bag always."
She saw the determined little collier buying in the week's groceries and
meat on the Friday nights, and she admired him. "Barker's little, but
he's ten times the man you are," she said to her husband.
Just then Wesson entered. He was thin, rather frail-looking, with a
boyish ingenuousness and a slightly foolish smile, despite his seven
children. But his wife was a passionate woman.
"I see you've kested me," he said, smiling rather vapidly.
"Yes," replied Barker.
The newcomer took off his cap and his big woollen muffler.


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