“Nothing. It’s all easy. The train starts for Moreton at half-past nine. Sam Bonus be gwaine to drive me in, and bide theer for me till I come back from Newton. Faither’s awnly too pleased to let me go. I said ’t was shopping.”
“An’ when you come home you’ll tell him—Mr. Lyddon—straight?”
“Everything, an’ thank God for a clean breast again.”
“An’ Will?”
“Caan’t say what he’ll do after. Theer’ll be no real marryin’ for us yet a while. Faither can have the law of Will presently,—that’s all I knaw.”
“Trust Will to do the right thing; and mind, come what may to him, theer’s allus Clem Hicks and me for friends.”
“Ban’t likely to be many others left, come to-morrow night. But I’ve run away from my own thoughts to think of you and him often of late days. He’ll get money and marry you, won’t he, when his aunt, Mrs. Coomstock, dies?”
“No; I thought so tu, an’ hoped it wance; but Clem says what she’ve got won’t come his way. She’s like as not to marry, tu—there ’m a lot of auld men tinkering after her, Billy Blee among ’em.”
Sounds arose from beneath. They began with harsh and grating notes, interrupted by a violent hawking and spitting. Then followed renewal of the former unlovely noises. Presently, at a point in the song, for such it was, half a dozen other voices drowned the soloist in a chorus.
“’T is Billy rehearsin’ moosic,” explained Phoebe, with a sickly smile. “He haven’t singed for a score of years; but they’ve awver-persuaded him and he’s promised to give ’em an auld ballet on my wedding-day.”