I peeped in.
There was our Kate, leaning lovingly over my chair,
pillowed as she had never pillowed it for me, and
in the chair was clearly a man, for I could see his
stockings and breeches stretching comfortably past
her skirts. She laughed merrily at something
said, and then stooped and kissed the person in the
chair.
This was woman’s faith! With a great clatter,
I strode into the porch, thrust open the door, and
stepped in. There was a shout of delight, a babble
of, “It’s our Noll! It’s our
Noll!” and Kate leaped into my arms and rained
kisses on me.
The man followed her, slowly and feebly, leaning heavily
on a stick. When he turned his face so that the
firelight showed him up, my legs sank beneath me and
my knees knocked together. It was Jack, dear old
Jack, nothing but the shadow of himself, but still
Jack right enough, and his hand was in mine.
“Run, Kit!” he cried. “Get
some wine! The lad’s overcome. God
bless you, old Noll, how are you?”
Kate ran off into the parlour, where our wine was
stored.
“Jack!”
“Hello, Noll!”
“I thought I’d killed you.”
“Was it you?” he asked, all amazed at
my self-accusation.
“Yes,” I faltered.
“By gom, Noll, you did give me a sock!”
He heard Kate tripping back with the wine, and put
his finger on his lips for a warning. And that
was the first and last remark Jack Dobson made on
the subject.
THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN
It took me to cure Jack. I administered one dose
of medicine and he at once began to fill out and get
strong and chesty in a manner almost absurd, whereon
there was much twitting of our Kate who, in her old
way, rated me soundly in public and crept up to me
in private, and kissed me and wept gladly in the most
approved maiden-like style.
This was the way of it. I sent Joe Braggs into
Stafford the day after I got home to fetch out Master
Dobson, and had him alone in my room. True he
was as near and grasping as ever, but I saw even this
side of him in a new light now, for he had been near
and grasping for Jack. He was rather uncertain
when we met; glad enough, of course, to see an old
friend back again safe and sound, but dubious on the
main point.
“Master Dobson,” said I, “your Jack
desires to wed our Kate.”
“So he tells me,” said he dolefully, rubbing
his thin finger under the edge of his bob-wig to scratch
his perplexed head.
“She is an excellent young woman, and a comely,”
said I, grinning at him.
“Undoubtedly,” he conceded.
“But, as the head of the family, Master Dobson,
I offer no objection to the proposal.”
Much it would have mattered if I had, but I always
take credit when and while I can.
“It’s very kind of you, Ol ... Mr.
Wheatman,” said he, “but....”
