The gloaming was already coming down.
Robert drove his ponies home, gave them the hospitality of the farmyard and a shake of hay, then went in to his wife.
Tea was ready and his mother, quicker to mark the young man's moods than Avis, asked him presently if anything were amiss.
"Don't tell me the cold have got into you, Bob," she said.
"No, mother," he answered; "but a wisht thing happened. Poor Mr. Bullstone—up over—sitting like a lone hawk on a rock. He wouldn't come for a drop of tea, though I begged him, and he's going mad terrible fast by the look of it."
"He'll kill himself before much longer," declared Avis. "And he'll kill Auna too: she's fretting to fiddlestrings about him. A very good thing if poor father was to die, I reckon. For what's the use of living like him—a scourge to himself and nuisance to everybody else?"
"He's suffered such a lot that it's shaken his mind," answered Bob. "But no doubt, in good hands, he could be coaxed round again. He's not so old as he looks, and he's tremendous strong, else he couldn't face the weather like he does."
"Maybe Huntingdon will calm him. A spot surely to tame man or beast," said the elder Mrs. Elvin; "but yet, on the other hand, it might overthrow all. I'm very sorry for Auna—'tis far too much to put upon a young creature."
"Her father's her life in a manner of speaking," replied Robert, "Where he goes, she'll go. Peter says that Huntingdon would be a good thing very likely, for Mr. Bullstone hinders more than he helps now. He's getting a bit jealous of Peter—so Peter thinks."
"Not him," answered Avis. "That's only Peter's vanity."