To change the theme, Dot did a little needlework - she carried the contents of a whole workbox in her pocket; however she contrived it, I don't know - then did a little nursing; then a little more needlework; then had a little whispering chat with May, while the old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, which was quite her manner always, found it a very short afternoon.Then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of this Institution of the Pic-Nic that she should perform all Bertha's household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle.Then she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which Caleb had contrived for Bertha, and played them very well; for Nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for music as it would have been for jewels, if she had had any to wear.By this time it was the established hour for having tea; and Tackleton came back again, to share the meal, and spend the evening.
Caleb and Bertha had returned some time before, and Caleb had sat down to his afternoon's work.But he couldn't settle to it, poor fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter.It was touching to see him sitting idle on his working-stool, regarding her so wistfully, and always saying in his face, 'Have I deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart!'
When it was night, and tea was done, and Dot had nothing more to do in washing up the cups and saucers; in a word - for I must come to it, and there is no use in putting it off - when the time drew nigh for expecting the Carrier's return in every sound of distant wheels, her manner changed again, her colour came and went, and she was very restless.Not as good wives are, when listening for their husbands.No, no, no.It was another sort of restlessness from that.
Wheels heard.A horse's feet.The barking of a dog.The gradual approach of all the sounds.The scratching paw of Boxer at the door!
'Whose step is that!' cried Bertha, starting up.
'Whose step?' returned the Carrier, standing in the portal, with his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night air.
'Why, mine.'
'The other step,' said Bertha.'The man's tread behind you!'
'She is not to be deceived,' observed the Carrier, laughing.'Come along, sir.You'll be welcome, never fear!'
He spoke in a loud tone; and as he spoke, the deaf old gentleman entered.
'He's not so much a stranger, that you haven't seen him once, Caleb,' said the Carrier.'You'll give him house-room till we go?'
'Oh surely, John, and take it as an honour.'
'He's the best company on earth, to talk secrets in,' said John.
'I have reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em, I can tell you.
Sit down, sir.All friends here, and glad to see you!'
When he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his natural tone, 'A chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to sit quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for.
He's easily pleased.'
Bertha had been listening intently.She called Caleb to her side, when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, to describe their visitor.When he had done so (truly now; with scrupulous fidelity), she moved, for the first time since he had come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no further interest concerning him.
The Carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, and fonder of his little wife than ever.
'A clumsy Dot she was, this afternoon!' he said, encircling her with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; 'and yet Ilike her somehow.See yonder, Dot!'
He pointed to the old man.She looked down.I think she trembled.
'He's - ha ha ha! - he's full of admiration for you!' said the Carrier.'Talked of nothing else, the whole way here.Why, he's a brave old boy.I like him for it!'
'I wish he had had a better subject, John,' she said, with an uneasy glance about the room.At Tackleton especially.
'A better subject!' cried the jovial John.'There's no such thing.
Come, off with the great-coat, off with the thick shawl, off with the heavy wrappers! and a cosy half-hour by the fire! My humble service, Mistress.A game at cribbage, you and I? That's hearty.
The cards and board, Dot.And a glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!'