"Whatever made you think of getting work out of Weircombe?
Oh, you dissatisfied old boy! I thought you were quite happy with me!" He took her hand and held it a moment, then pressed it to his lips.
"Happy!" he murmured.

"My dear, I was _too_ happy!--and I felt that I owed you too much! I went away for a bit just to see if I could do something for you more profitable than basket-making----" Mary nodded her head at him in wise-like fashion, just as if he were a spoilt child.
"I daresay you did!" she said, smiling.

"And what's the end of it all, eh ?" He looked at her, and in the brightness of her smile, smiled also.
"Well, the end of it all is that I've come back to you in exactly the same condition in which I went away," he said.

"No richer,--no poorer! I've got nothing to do.

Nobody wants old people on their hands nowadays.
It's a rough time of the world!" "You'll always find the world rough on you if you turn your back on those that love you!" she said.
He lifted his head and gazed at her with such a pained and piteous appeal, that her heart smote her.