Cobbler's garden.
When he arrived at Mrs. Wicket's cottage, the widow's pale face and
listless manner, filled him with alarm. "I've been up with Juliet,"
she said. "The child has a touch of croup. It's nothing. She's
better this morning." And she gave him her hand, still cold with the
chill of night.
"Good heavens," exclaimed Mr. Jeminy; "I am sure Mrs. Grumble would
have been glad to keep you company."
Mrs. Wicket smiled. But she did not answer this declaration, which Mr.
Jeminy knew in his heart to be untrue.
Putting down his tools, he began to examine the gate. "Hm," he said.
"Hm. Yes, I'll soon have this fixed for you." Mrs. Wicket stood
watching him with a gentle smile. "You're very kind," she said. "It's
very kind of you, Mr. Jeminy. Most folks are too proud to turn a hand
for me, no matter what was to happen."
"Tut," said Mr. Jeminy.
"Well, it's a fact," said Mrs. Wicket gravely. "I've never felt
loneliness like I do here. Not ever. Because I've had trouble, Mr.
Jeminy, and known sorrow, folks leave me alone.
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