"Peace, for the likes of us, without learning, only offers through work."
They had reached Marydrew's and Adam made the other go in.
"I'll stop under the lew of the hedge till this storm's over," he said. "Tell Billy I'd like to see him to-night if he can drop in. The wind's turning a thought north and will go down with the sun no doubt."
He went forward, where a deep bank broke the weather, and Jacob entered William's cottage. Mr. Marydrew had seen them from the window and now came to the door.
"A proper tantara 'tis blowing to-day," he said. "My loose slates be chattering, like a woman's tongue, and I'm feared of my life they'll be blowed off. The stone's started then? That's good."
Jacob, according to his habit, pursued his own thoughts and spoke on, as though Adam still stood beside him.
"To talk of peace—to say there's any peace for a red-handed man. Peace is the reward of work and good living and faithful service. Red hands can't earn peace."
"Now don't you begin that noise. Let the wind blow if it must. No call for you to blow. Take my tarpaulin coat for the journey. A thought small, but it will keep your niddick dry."
"Give me a dram," said Jacob, "and listen to me."
Mr. Marydrew brought his spirit from a cupboard while the other rambled on.