As she was doing so Barker knocked and entered.

He was a quiet, compact little man, who looked as if he would go through a stone wall.

His black hair was cropped short, his head was bony.

Like most miners, he was pale, but healthy and taut.
"Evenin', missis," he nodded to Mrs.Morel, and he seated himself with a sigh.
"Good-evening," she replied cordially.
"Tha's made thy heels crack," said Morel.
"I dunno as I have," said Barker.
He sat, as the men always did in Morel's kitchen, effacing himself rather.
"How's missis ?" she asked of him.
He had told her some time back: "We're expectin' us third just now, you see." "Well," he answered, rubbing his head, "she keeps pretty middlin', I think." "Let's see--when ?" asked Mrs.Morel.
"Well, I shouldn't be surprised any time now." "Ah! And she's kept fairly ?" "Yes, tidy." "That's a blessing, for she's none too strong." "No.

An' I've done another silly trick." "What's that ?" Mrs.Morel knew Barker wouldn't do anything very silly.
"I'm come be-out th' market-bag." "You can have mine." "Nay, you'll be wantin' that yourself." "I shan't.