"'Pears I've comed the wrong day, Joan," he said presently, when Mrs.
Tregenza's back was turned, "but now I be here, you must do with me as you
can."
"Mother's gwaine to town wi' Tom bimebye; then me an' you'll have a talk,
uncle, wi'out nothin' to let us. You'm lookin' braave, me auld dear."
He liked a compliment, and anticipated pleasure from a quiet afternoon with
his niece. She bustled about, as usual, to make up for lost time; and
presently, when the cloth was laid, walked to the cottage door to see if
her father's lugger was at its moorings or in sight. Meantime Mrs.
Tregenza, having brought forth dinner from the oven, called at the back
door to her son in a voice harsh and shrill beyond customary measure, as
became her exceptional tribulations.
"Come in, will 'e, an' ait your food, bwoy. Theer ed'n no call to kick out
they boots agin' the pig's 'ouse because I be gwaine to buy new wans for 'e
presently."
Fired by a word which she had heard from John Barron, that flowers became
the house as well as the garden, Joan plucked an early sprig of pink ribe
and the first buds of wall-flower before returning to the kitchen. These
she put in a jug of water and planted boldly upon the dinner-table as Mrs.
Tregenza brought out a pie.
"Butivul, sure 'nough," said Mr. Chirgwin, drawing in his chair. His eye
was on the pie-dish, but Joan thought he referred to her bouquet.
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