Jenny, still panting, stood as she had stood for the last few minutes, and watched their departure.  She heard the front door close as they left the house; and with shaky steps went and slammed the door of the kitchen.  Trembling violently, she leant against the door, as Emmy had done earlier.  For a moment she could not speak, could not think or feel; and only as a clock in the neighbourhood solemnly recorded the eighth hour did she choke down a little sob, and say with the ghost of her bereaved irony: 

“That’s done it!”

CHAPTER IV:  THE WISH

i

Waiting until she had a little recovered her self-control, Jenny presently moved from the door to the fireplace, and proceeded methodically to put coals on the fire.  She was still shaking slightly, and the corners of her mouth were uncontrollably twitching with alternate smiles and other raiding emotions; so that she did not yet feel in a fit state to meet Pa’s scrutiny.  He might be the old fool he sometimes appeared to be, and, inconveniently, he might not.  Just because she did not want him to be particularly bright it was quite probable that he would have a flourish of brilliance.  That is as it occasionally happens, in the dullest of mortals.  So Jenny was some time in attending to the fire, until she supposed that any undue redness of cheek might be imagined to have been occasioned by her strenuous activities.  She then straightened herself and looked down at Pa with a curious mixture of protectiveness and anxiety.

“Pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” she inquired, more to make conversation which might engage the ancient mind in ruminant pastime than to begin any series of inquiries into Pa’s mental states.

“Eh, Jenny?” said Pa, staring back at her.  “Ain’t you gone out?  Is it Emmy that’s gone out?  What did that fool Alf Rylett want?  He was shouting....  I heard him.”

“Yes, Pa; but you shouldn’t have listened,” rebuked Jenny, with a fine colour.

Pa shook his shaggy head.  He felt cunningly for his empty tankard, hoping that it had been refilled by his benevolent genius.  It was not until the full measure of his disappointment had been revealed that he answered her.

“I wasn’t listening,” he quavered.  “I didn’t hear what he said....  Did Emmy go out with him?”

“Yes, Pa.  To the theatre.  Alf brought tickets.  Tickets!  Tickets for seats....  Oh, dear! Why can’t you understand!  Didn’t have to pay at the door....”

Pa suddenly understood.

“Oh ah!” he said.  “Didn’t have to pay....”  There was a pause.  “That’s like Alf Rylett,” presently added Pa.  Jenny sat looking at him in consternation at such an uncharitable remark.

“It’s not!” she cried.  “I never knew you were such a wicked old man!”

Pa gave an antediluvian chuckle that sounded like a magical and appalling rattle from the inner recesses of his person.  He was getting brighter and brighter, as the stars appear to do when the darkness deepens.