“To the Red House—Mr. Grimbal’s. It may lead to the handlin’ of his hives for all us can say, if you do the job vitty, as you ’m bound to.”
“John Grimbal’s!”
Hicks stood still as though this announcement had turned him into stone.
“Ess fay! Why do ’e stand glazin’ like that? A chap rode out for ’e ’pon horseback; an’ a bit o’ time be lost a’ready. They ’m swarmin’ in the orchard, an’ nobody knaws more ’n the dead what to be at.”
“I won’t go. Let them get Johnson.”
“‘Won’t go’! An’ five shillin’ hangin’ to it, an’ Lard knaws what more in time to come! ‘Won’t go’! An’ my poor legs throbbin’ something cruel with climbin’ for ’e!”
“I—I’m not going there—not to that man. I have reason.”
“O my gude God!” burst out the old woman, “what’ll ’e do next? An’ me—as worked so hard to find ’e—an’ so auld as I am! Please, please, Clem, for your mother—please. Theer’s bin so little money in the house of late days, an’ less to come. Doan’t, if you love me, as I knaws well you do, turn your back ’pon the scant work as falls in best o’ times.”
The man reflected with troubled eyes, and his mother took his arm and tried to pull him down the hill.
“Is John Grimbal at home?” he asked.