“There’s a drop of brandy for your tea, father, if you’ll put it in while I turn this bit of meat. If the river was to get frozen, there would be a deal of distress; wouldn’t there, father?”

“Ah! there’s always enough of that,” said Gaffer, dropping the liquor into his cup from a squat black bottle, and dropping it slowly that it might seem more; “distress is forever a going about, like sut in the air⁠—Ain’t that boy up yet?”

“The meat’s ready now, father. Eat it while it’s hot and comfortable. After you have finished, we’ll turn round to the fire and talk.”

But, he perceived that he was evaded, and, having thrown a hasty angry glance towards the bunk, plucked at a corner of her apron and asked:

“What’s gone with that boy?”