She looked round, and saw a smile pass between her father and the woman.
'What is it?' asked she.
'Only our good friend here,' replied her father, 'hit on a capital expedient for clearing the place.'
'I bid 'em begone, and each take a child with 'em, and to mind that they were orphans, and their mother a widow.
It was who could do most, and the childer are sure of a bellyful to-day, and of kindness too.
Does hoo know how he died?'
'No,' said Margaret; 'I could not tell her all at once.'
'Hoo mun be told because of th' Inquest.
See!
Hoo's coming round; shall you or I do it? or mappen your father would be best?'
'No; you, you,' said Margaret.
They awaited her perfect recovery in silence.
Then the neighbour woman sat down on the floor, and took Mrs. Boucher's head and shoulders on her lap.
'Neighbour,' said she, 'your man is dead.
Guess yo' how he died?'
'He were drowned,' said Mrs. Boucher, feebly, beginning to cry for the first time, at this rough probing of her sorrows.
'He were found drowned.
He were coming home very hopeless o' aught on earth.
He thought God could na be harder than men; mappen not so hard; mappen as tender as a mother; mappen tenderer.
I'm not saying he did right, and I'm not saying he did wrong.
All I say is, may neither me nor mine ever have his sore heart, or we may do like things.'
'He has left me alone wi' a' these children!' moaned the widow, less distressed at the manner of the death than Margaret expected; but it was of a piece with her helpless character to feel his loss as principally affecting herself and her children.
'Not alone,' said Mr. Hale, solemnly. 'Who is with you?
Who will take up your cause?'
The widow opened her eyes wide, and looked at the new speaker, of whose presence she had not been aware till then.
'Who has promised to be a father to the fatherless?' continued he.
'But I've getten six children, sir, and the eldest not eight years of age.
I'm not meaning for to doubt His power, sir,—only it needs a deal o' trust;' and she began to cry afresh.
'Hoo'll be better able to talk to-morrow, sir,' said the neighbour. 'Best comfort now would be the feel of a child at her heart.
I'm sorry they took the babby.'
'I'll go for it,' said Margaret.
And in a few minutes she returned, carrying Johnnie, his face all smeared with eating, and his hands loaded with treasures in the shape of shells, and bits of crystal, and the head of a plaster figure.
She placed him in his mother's arms.
'There!' said the woman, 'now you go.
They'll cry together, and comfort together, better nor any one but a child can do.
I'll stop with her as long as I'm needed, and if yo' come to-morrow, yo' can have a deal o' wise talk with her, that she's not up to to-day.'
As Margaret and her father went slowly up the street, she paused at Higgins's closed door.
'Shall we go in?' asked her father. 'I was thinking of him too.'
They knocked.
There was no answer, so they tried the door.
It was bolted, but they thought they heard him moving within. 'Nicholas!' said Margaret. There was no answer, and they might have gone away, believing the house to be empty, if there had not been some accidental fall, as of a book, within.
'Nicholas!' said Margaret again. 'It is only us.
Won't you let us come in?'
'No,' said he. 'I spoke as plain as I could, 'bout using words, when I bolted th' door.
Let me be, this day.'
Mr. Hale would have urged their desire, but Margaret placed her finger on his lips.
'I don't wonder at it,' said she. 'I myself long to be alone.
It seems the only thing to do one good after a day like this.'
Chapter 37 Looking South
'A spade! a rake! a hoe!