mestic duties, and Alan was always saying to him, "Buck up, Dad!"
With Nedda's absorption into the little Joyfields whirlpool, the sun
shone but dimly for Felix. And a somewhat febrile attention to 'The Last
of the Laborers' had not brought it up to his expectations. He fluttered
under his buff waistcoat when he saw her coming in at the gate. She
must want something of him! For to this pitch of resignation, as to his
little daughter's love for him, had he come! And if she wanted something
of him, things would be going wrong again down there! Nor did the warmth
of her embrace, and her: "Oh! Dad, it IS nice to see you!" remove that
instinctive conviction; though delicacy, born of love, forbade him to
ask her what she wanted. Talking of the sky and other matters, thinking
how pretty she was looking, he waited for the new, inevitable proof that
youth was first, and a mere father only second fiddle now. A note
from Stanley had already informed him of the strike. The news had been
something of a relief. Strikes, at all events, were respectable and
legitimate means of protest, and to hear that one was in progress had
not forced him out of his laborious attempt to believe the whole affair
only a mole-hill. He had not, however, heard of the strike-breakers, nor
had he seen any newspaper mention of the matter; and when she had shown
him the paragraph; recounted her visit to Mr. Cuthcott, and how she had
wanted to take him back with her to see for himself--he waited a moment,
then said almost timidly: "Should I be of any use, my dear?" She flushed
and squeezed his hand in silence; and he knew he would.

When he had packed a handbag and left a note for Flora, he rejoined her
in the hall.

It was past seven when they reached their destination, and, taking the
station 'fly,' drove slowly up to Joyfields, under a showery sky.

CHAPTER XXIX

When Felix and Nedda reached Tod's cottage, the three little Trysts,
whose activity could never be quite called play, were all the living
creatures about the house.

"Where is Mrs. Freeland, Biddy?"

"We don't know; a man came, and she went."

"And Miss Sheila?"

"She went out in the mornin'. And Mr. Freeland's gone."

Susie added: "The dog's gone, too."

"Then help me to get some tea."

"Yes."

With the assistance of the mother-child, and the hindrance of Susie and
Billy, Nedda made and laid tea, with an anxious heart. The absence of
her aunt, who so seldom went outside the cott