“No I aint, nor do I intend. Do you take me for a fool?”
“Far from that, old stick-in-the-mud. But don’t you say a word to Cooney about me.”
“I won’t—’taint likely.”
“He’s all well enough in his way, but he’s got a precious long tongue, and is too fond of chattering.”
“Oh, there aint any harm in the chap; leastways, I never found any. He’s fair and square enough.”
“That may be, but I again charge you, Bill, to say nothing about my being in London, what I am, and what I am doing. This is most important. Do you understand?”
“I do. Cooney knows nothing, nor shall he.”
“That’s right. You’ve passed your word, and I am satisfied.”
They had by this time passed Charlton. The curtain of night had fallen over the landscape. Not a star to be seen.
Peace drew the rein, and the pony and trap turned into a dark narrow lane.