“I might; but I aint quite certain about that?”
Brickett remained for some time silent and thoughtful after this.
“I hope as how he aint been up to mischief,” he said, presently. “I do hope that; but I tell ’ee candidly, Master Henry, I didn’t at all like the look of the varmint, and had it not been that I aint so lively on my pins as I used to be, I should have med arter him, and no mistake.”
“Oh, it’s all right enough, I dare say the fellow’s been having a set to—a mill with someone, that’s how I take it, and may be he’s got the worst of it.”
“I dunno’ so much ’bout that; from what I could see of him he looked a good deal like Giles; him as worked at Stoke Ferry Farm some year or two agone. If it war he, which I somehow think it war, he be’s a deal altered.”
“Giles, eh? Well, now you mention it I don’t know, but it might be he.”
“I shouldn’t loike to swear to ’im, but that’s the idea I formed at the time, but may be we shall larn more ’bout ’im afore long. He aint a much good, anyhow.”
“Well, Mr. Brickett, I must be for moving—so, good-night,” said Henry Adolphus, who at once bent his steps in the direction of the hall.