one day he thanked her very kindly for a new shirt for Harry, and insisted on paying for the material, anyhow; and she knew she hadn't made that shirt. And this, of course, puzzled her a bit. Then she said, "Oh, that's all right!"
Some days later Mrs. Brent fell ill, and Mrs. Foster nursed her for a day and a night. Early next morning Tom saw her hurrying across from Mrs. Brent's hut to her own, and stumbled hastily up the hill to cut her off—and seemed to have nothing to say to her when he stopped her. But Mrs. Foster understood him as he stood helplessly and purposelessly before her.
"She's much better, Tom," she said. "She's had a good sleep, and she'll be alright by to-morrow."
"Thank you, Mrs. Foster," said Tom, and retreated in confusion to his hut, where he let the chops burn, and started to put on his little boy's trousers back to front.
"Father," said Harry suddenly, "are you in love?"
"Wha'—what?" gasped Tom.
"Because," said Harry, "Lily Brent says that when people are in love they forget and do things wrong."
"Don't talk nonsense, sonny," said Tom, so the conversation closed.
Tom had always been extremely shy of his little boy, and avoided conversation, and they were strangers yet; but an incident was coming along that was to bring those two lonely hearts close together.
It was Christmas Eve, and Tom and his mate knocked off a few minutes before twelve at night.
