“Depends what they was theer for, I should reckon, Miller”
“Not a bit of it. Gaol-birds is all feathered alike inside clink, an’ honest men feathers ’em all alike when they come out,” declared Will’s father-in-law.
“A sheer Cain, as no man will touch by the hand—that’s what you’ll be,” added Billy, without apparent regret.
“If that’s so,” said Will, very calmly, “you’d best to think twice ’fore you sends me. I’ve done a high-handed deed, bein’ forced into the same by happenings here when I went off last summer; but ’t is auld history now. I’d like to be a credit to ’e some time, not a misery for all time. Why not—?” He was going to suggest a course of action more favourable to himself than that promised; but it struck him suddenly that any attitude other than the one in which he had come savoured of snivelling for mercy. So he stopped, left a break of silence, and proceeded with less earnestness in his voice.
“You’ve had a matter of eight weeks to decide in, so I thought I might ax’e, man to man, what’s gwaine to be done.”
“I have decided,” said the miller coldly; “I decided a week ago.”
Billy started and his blue eyes blinked inquiringly. He sniffed his surprise and said “Well!” under his breath.
“Ess, ’t is so, I didn’t tell ’e, Blee, ’cause I reckoned you’d try an’ turn me from my purpose, which wasn’t to be done.”
“Never—not me. I’m allus in flat agreement with ’e, same as any wise man finds hisself all times.”
“Well, doan’t ’e take it ill, me keepin’ it to myself.”