Will’s business related to himself. He was weary of waiting for Mr. Lyddon, and though he had taken care to let Phoebe know by Chris that his arm was well and strong enough for the worst that might be found for it to do, no notice was taken of his message, no sign escaped the miller.
All interested persons had their own theories upon this silence. Mrs. Blanchard suspected that Mr. Lyddon would do nothing at all, and Will readily accepted this belief; but he found it impossible to wait with patience for its verification. This indeed was the harder to him because Clement Hicks predicted a different issue and foretold an action of most malignant sort on the miller’s part. What ground existed for attributing any such deed to Mr. Lyddon was not manifest, but the bee-keeper stuck to it that Will’s father-in-law would only wait until he was in good employment and then proceed to his confusion.
This conviction he now repeated.
“He’s going to make you smart before he’s done with you, if human nature’s a factor to rely upon. It’s clear to me.”
“I doan’t think so ill of un. An’ yet I ban’t wishful to leave it to chance. You, an’ you awnly, knaw what lies hid in the past behind me. The question is, should I take that into account now, or go ahead as if it never had failed out?”
“Let it alone, as it has let you alone. Never rake it up again, and forget it if you can. That’s my advice to you. Forget you ever—”
“Hush!” said Will. “I’d rather not hear the word, even ’pon your lips.”
They then discussed the main matter from the opposite vantage-grounds of minds remote in every particular; but no promising procedure suggested itself to either man, and it was not until upon his homeward way that Will, unaided, arrived at an obvious and very simple conclusion. With some glee he welcomed this idea.
“I’ll just wait till Monday night,” he said to himself, “an’ then I’ll step right down to Miller, an’ ax un what’s in the wind, an’ if I can help his hand. Then he must speak if he’s a man.”