Mrs. Bold set the little pig carefully on its feet, and sidled across the yard, eyeing her husband the while with a curious expression that was half-fearful, half-triumphant.  When she reached the closed stable door she opened it, plunged into the dark recess within, and reappeared, dragging forth by a wisp of his ragged mane—­poor, decrepit old Blackbird.

“Here’s my little pet,” she cried jubilantly, delight at her success overmastering all other feelings.  “You’ve give me your word, Joseph, and, as ye d’say yerself, ye bain’t the one to take it back.  Here’s the only pet I’ll ever ax to keep.  He’ll not cost much,” she added, seeing her husband’s face redden and his eyes roll threateningly.  “He can pick about in the summer, and a bit of hay in the winter’ll be all he’ll need.  I’ll make it up to ’ee, see if I don’t; and I think you do owe I summat, anyhow, for workin’ so hard as I always do.”

“Oh, in course, if ye put it that way,” he returned, huffily, “I haven’t got a word to say.  I al’ays thought ’twas a wife’s dooty to help her husband, but since it seems to be a favour, I’m sure I did ought to be very grateful.  Thank ye kindly, ma’am!  P’r’aps ye’ll be so good as to shut up that beautiful pet o’ yourn now, and give me a bit o’ breakfast, if it bain’t troublin’ ye too much.”

“Oh, go on, Joseph!” exclaimed Mrs. Bold, with heightening colour, turning Blackbird about as she spoke, and propelling him before her towards the stall.  “I couldn’t do nothin’ else nor want to keep him,” she added in an aggrieved tone, “when he come to the dairy door—­he come actually to the dairy door!—­same as if he knowed ’twas his last chance.”

The farmer did not answer, but in spite of himself a dawning expression of interest was perceptible on his face.

“‘E-es, an’ he must ha’ broke through a hedge to get out; he be cut about terrible wi’ thorns.”

“They did padlock th’ gate when I sent en back last time,” returned Joseph gruffly, adding, in the same tone, “Ye’d better sponge they sore places a bit after breakfast, and get dust out of ’em.”

Mrs. Bold installed Blackbird in his old quarters, and hastened to the house.

The meal which ensued was at first a somewhat silent one.  In spite of her satisfaction at having gained her point, Mrs. Bold felt somewhat remorseful for the tactics she had employed; and her husband stolidly munched his bread and bacon with a solemn, not to say gloomy, countenance.

All at once, however, he began to roll his head from side to side, while the colour on his already rubicund face deepened so much that his wife gazed at him in alarm, dreading the ensuing outburst.  But when after long repression the explosion actually took place, it proved to be one of harmless and jovial laughter.

“What is it?” inquired Mrs. Bold, laughing delightedly too, though she knew not at what.