Page 307 - sons-and-lovers

‘Nay, you’ll be wantin’ that yourself.’
‘I shan’t. I take a string bag always.’
She saw the determined little collier buying in the week’s
groceries and meat on the Friday nights, and she admired
him. ‘Barker’s little, but he’s ten times the man you are,’ she
said to her husband.
Just then Wesson entered. He was thin, rather frail-
looking, with a boyish ingenuousness and a slightly foolish
smile, despite his seven children. But his wife was a passion-
ate woman.
‘I see you’ve kested me,’ he said, smiling rather vapidly.
‘Yes,’ replied Barker.
The newcomer took off his cap and his big woollen muf-
fler. His nose was pointed and red.
‘I’m afraid you’re cold, Mr. Wesson,’ said Mrs. Morel.
‘It’s a bit nippy,’ he replied.
‘Then come to the fire.’
‘Nay, I s’ll do where I am.’
Both colliers sat away back. They could not be induced to
come on to the hearth. The hearth is sacred to the family.
‘Go thy ways i’ th’ armchair,’ cried Morel cheerily.
‘Nay, thank yer; I’m very nicely here.’
‘Yes, come, of course,’ insisted Mrs. Morel.
He rose and went awkwardly. He sat in Morel’s armchair
awkwardly. It was too great a familiarity. But the fire made
him blissfully happy.
‘And how’s that chest of yours?’ demanded Mrs. Morel.
He smiled again, with his blue eyes rather sunny.
‘Oh, it’s very middlin’,’ he said.

0 Sons and Lovers