So she shaded her eyes against the cold glare and watched them carefully, with that same firm, resolute face with which she always looked out upon the world; and even as, presently, she exchanged that quick, silent nod of recognition with the Major and Gertie, still she watched the brown-faced, shabby young man who came last, carrying his bundle and walking a little lame.

“You’re after your time,” she said abruptly.

The Major began his explanations, but she cut them short and led the way into the house.

(II)

I find it very difficult to record accurately the impression that Frank made upon Mrs. Partington; but that the impression was deep and definite became perfectly clear to me from her conversation.  He hardly spoke at all, she said, and before he got work at the jam factory he went out for long, lonely walks across the marshes.  He and the Major slept together, it seemed, in one room, and Gertie, temporarily with the children and Mrs. Partington in another. (Mr. Partington, at this time, happened to be away on one of his long absences.) At meals Frank was always quiet and well-behaved, yet not ostentatiously.  Mrs. Partington found no fault with him in that way.  He would talk to the children a little before they went to school, and would meet them sometimes on their way back from school; and all three of them conceived for him an immense and indescribable adoration.  All this, however, would be too long to set down in detail.

It seems to have been a certain air of pathos which Mrs. Partington herself cast around him, which affected her the most, and I imagine her feeling to have been largely motherly.  There was, however, another element very obviously visible, which, in anyone but Mrs. Partington, I should call reverence....  She told me that she could not imagine why he was traveling with the Major and Gertie, so she at least understood something of the gulf between them.

So the first week crept by, bringing us up to the middle of December.

* * * * *

It was on the Friday night that Frank came back with the announcement that he was to go to work at the jam factory on Monday.  There was a great pressure, of course, owing to the approach of Christmas, and Frank was to be given joint charge of a van.  The work would last, it seemed, at any rate, for a week or two.

“You’ll have to mind your language,” said the Major jocosely. (He was sitting in the room where the cooking was done and where, by the way, the entire party, with the exception of the two men, slept; and, at this moment, had his feet on the low mantelshelf between the saucepan and Jimmy’s cap.)

“Eh?” said Frank.

“No language allowed there,” said the Major.  “They’re damn particular.”

Frank put his cap down and took his seat on the bed.

“Where’s Gertie?” he asked. ("Yes, come on, Jimmie.”)