“He ban’t fightin’ so hard, by the looks of it,” he said.
“No more he is. Come he sleep like this till dark, I lay he’ll do braave.”
Nobody spoke for some minutes, then Billy, having pondered the point in silence, suddenly relieved his mind and attacked Will, to the astonishment of all present.
“’Tis a black thought for you to knaw this trouble’s of your awn wicked hatching, Farmer,” he said abruptly; “though it ban’t a very likely time to say so, perhaps. Yet theer’s life still, so I speak.”
Will glared speechless; but Billy knew himself too puny and too venerable to fear rough handling. He regarded the angry man before him without fear, and explained his allusion.
“You may glaze ’pon me, an’ stick your savage eyes out your head; but that doan’t alter truth. ’T ’as awnly a bit ago in the fall as I told un what would awvertake un,” he continued, turning to the women. “He left the cross what Mr. Grimbal found upsy-down in the airth; he stood up afore the company an’ damned the glory of all Christian men. Ess fay, he done that fearful thing, an’ if ’t weern’t enough to turn the Lard’s hand from un, what was? Snug an’ vitty he weer afore that, so far as anybody knawed; an’ since—why, troubles have tumbled ’pon each other’s tails like apple-dranes out of a nest.”
The face of Phoebe was lighted with some eagerness, some deep anxiety, and not a little passion as she listened to this harangue.
“You mean that gate-stone brought this upon us?” she asked.
“No, no, never,” declared Damaris; “’t is contrary to all reason.”
“’T is true, whether or no; an’ any fule, let alone a man as knaws like I do, would tell ’e the same. ’T is common sense if you axes me. Your man was told ’t was a blessed cross, an’ he flouted the lot of us an’ left it wheer ’t was. ’T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a scoffin’ of the A’mighty to the very face of Un. I wouldn’t stand it myself if I was Him.”