The world of the weald and woods shimmered
silvery in dew and moonlight. Infinite silence reigned. Then the boy's
small, indignant voice broke it.
"You'll have to let me in, I reckon. Blamed if I doan't think you was right
'bout faither arter all."
The reason for Tom's return may be briefly told. He had taken his basket
home and got it safely under cover to his mother. Then, after chapel, Gray
Michael went into the village, and Thomasin had an opportunity to ask some
of those questions she was burning to put.
"An' how be Joan?" she began.
"Wisht an' drawed thin 'bout the faace seemin'ly. An' Joe's letter just
made her cry fit to bust her eyes, 'stead o' cheerin' of her like."
"Poor lass. I dedn' expect nothin' differ'nt. I've most a mind to go up
Drift an' see her--for a reason I've thot upon. Did Joan say anythin' 'bout
a last will an' testament to 'e?"
"No, nothin' 'bout anything worth namin'. But Polly had a deal to say. Her
wished her could send faither a pound o' charity 'stead o' butter."
"She dared!"
At that moment Mr. Tregenza returned to supper, and soon afterward his son
went to bed. The lad had not been asleep half an hour before Gray Michael
came across the basket from Drift. Two minutes later Tom heard the thunder
of his father's voice.
"Tom! you come down here an' be sharp about it!"
The boy tumbled out of bed instantly, and went down to the kitchen in his
nightshirt and trousers.
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