“I will, then. Come to-morrow by five, an’ Billy shall show ’e what’s to do.”
It would be difficult to say which, of those who heard the miller’s resolve received it with most astonishment. Will’s voice was almost tremulous.
“You’ll never be sorry, never. I couldn’t have hoped such a thing. Caan’t think how I comed to ax it. An’ yet—but I’ll buckle to anything and everything, so help me. I’ll think for ’e an’ labour for ’e as no hireling that was ever born could, I will. An’ you’ve done a big, grand-fashion thing, an’ I’m yours, body an’ bones, for it; an’ you’ll never regret it.”
The young man was really moved by an issue so unexpected. He had uttered his suggestion on the spur of the moment, as he uttered most things, and such a reception argued a greatness of heart and generosity of spirit quite unparalleled in his experience. So he departed wishing all good on Mr. Lyddon and meaning all good with his whole soul and strength.
When he had gone the miller spoke; but contrary to custom, he did not look into Mr. Blee’s face while so doing.
“You’m astonished, Billy,” he said, “an’ so be I, come to think of it. But I’m gettin’ tu auld to fret my life away with vain strife. I be gwaine to prove un. He’d stand to anything, eh? ’Twas his word.”
“An’ well he might.”
“Can ’e picture Blanchard cleaning out the pigs’ house?”
“No fay!”
“Or worse?”