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Updated: May 12, 2025
Druitt, the higgler, had become rare; only an occasional bit of bacon, or once in a way a couple of rabbits, a hare, a doubtfully obtained pheasant, could ever be required from him; so that the greater part of his frequent visits were admittedly paid to the servant and not to the mistress. But he proved an unconscionably slow courtier.
From the yard beyond came sounds of industrious activity the rumble of a wagon being pulled from the pent-house, the thump of sacks being let down on the pulleys, and the intermittent buzz of a chaff-cutting machine. Presently somebody appeared on the pathway, and came slowly and shyly toward the door. "Oh, bother," said Mary. "If it isn't Mr. Druitt again."
"It's wonderful late to get 'em with any heart to 'em. I'll fetch 'em." Thus, as was usual, the higgler went backward and forward between the door and his cart; and Mavis, with the baby on her arm, at intervals inspected various commodities. Eventually she purchased a capon for the Sunday dinner, paid for it, and bade Mr. Druitt good-by. "Good-by, mum and much obliged."
On the next visit of the higgler Dale was lying in wait for him. "Come inside, please. I'd like a few words with you, Mr. Druitt;" and the higgler was led through the kitchen, and up the three steps into the adjacent room. Here, as soon as the door had been shut, Mr. and Mrs. Dale both tackled him.
Druitt, sitting on the edge of his chair, smiling foolishly, nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen door, and gave a queer sort of wink. "Meaning her?" "Yes, who else should we mean?" "I've never said a word of love to her in my life." "Oh, how," cried Mavis, "can you make such a pretense?" "Because it's the truth." "But," said Mavis, indignantly, "you've made her fond of you.
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