"That 'a be," replied the labourer, becoming very parched indeed. "If ye'll stand atop the stile, ye'll see the chimneys of his house. 'Tis a rare fine house."
The stranger stood upon the top bar of the stile, and gazed in the indicated direction. "I see them, and I make my obeisance to them." Saying which he doffed his hat, and bowed with a curiously-fantastic tenderness. He quite forgot the labourer, who was standing by his side, greedily and humbly expectant, but a cough and a kick at the stile recalled him to himself. He turned, and, with a negligent nod and a half smile at the labourer, dropped the money carelessly into his pocket, and proceeded to charge his pipe.
A minute or two passed in silence; then the labourer coughed again, and scraped his foot, and shifted his body restlessly; but the stranger puffed at his pipe calmly, and did not appear to notice him, although really he was enjoying the man's discomfiture. The labourer went through a certain mental process. First, he was mystified, and his mind was clouded; then a glimmer of light broke into the clouds, and a dim suspicion stole upon him that he had been beaten into civility by a trick. With a sense of helplessness, and of submission to the superior cunning by which he had been conquered, he was about to move away, when the passing of his tongue over his lips made him ireful and vindicative. A thought struck him, and he proceeded to give it expression.
"'A say!" he cried, in his uncivillist tone.
The stranger removed his pipe from his lips, and raised his eyes towards the man.
"Ah! you have an idea, evidently. Stand, then, and deliver!"
The man started back, having some notion of the meaning of the words; he clapped his hand on his trousers-pocket, to protect three half-pence and--his idea.
"Don't be alarmed," said the stranger; "nothing of that sort was in my mind. Proceed, my friend."
"No friend o' yours, that 'a know of," retorted the labourer. "You'd best take care!"
"I will endeavour to do so."