“Will, do ’e hear Mr. Blee?” asked Phoebe.
“I hear un. ’T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it ban’t.”
“Never tu late to do a gude deed,” declared Billy; “an’ you’ll have to come to it, or you’ll get the skin cussed off your back afore you ’m done with. Gormed if ever I seed sich a man as you! Theer be some gude points about ’e, as everything must have from God A’mighty’s workshop, down to poisonous varmints. But certain sure am I that you don’t ought to think twice ’pon this job.”
“Do ’e mean it might even make the differ’nee between life an’ death to the bwoy?” asked Phoebe breathlessly.
“I do. Just all that.”
“Will—for God’s love, Will!”
“What do ’e say, mother?”
“It may be truth. Strange things fall out. Yet it never hurted my parents in the past.”
“For why?” asked Billy. “’Cause they didn’t knaw ’t was theer, so allowance was made by the Watching Eye. Now ’t is differ’nt, an’ His rage be waxing.”
“Your blessed God ’s got no common sense, then—an’ that’s all I’ve got to say ’bout it. What would you have me do?”