It was not on the table on which he had seen it last night.
It was so unlikely, however, that she had gone out without telling him, that he dismissed the notion; and, something recovered from the strange agitation into which the cry had cast him, he yawned.

He returned to the hearth and knelt and re-arranged the sticks so that the air might have freer access to the fire.

Presently he would draw the water for her, and fill the great kettle, and sweep the floor.

The future might be gloomy, the prospect might lower, but the present was not without its pleasures.
All his life his slowness to guess the truth on this occasion was a puzzle to him.

For the materials were his.