“Ah!”
They consulted, and it presently appeared that Mr. Lyddon deliberately designed to set Will about the most degrading task the farm could furnish.
“’Twill sting the very life of un!” said Billy gleefully, and he proceeded to arrange an extremely trying programme for Will Blanchard.
“Doan’t think any small spite leads me to this way of dealing with un,” explained Mr. Lyddon, who knew right well that it was so. “But ’tis to probe the stuff he’s made of. Nothing should be tu hard for un arter what he’ve done, eh?”
“You’m right. ’Tis true wisdom to chastise the man this way if us can, an’ shake his wicked pride.”
Billy’s genius lent itself most happily to this scheme. He applauded the miller’s resolution until his master himself began to believe that the idea was not unjust; he ranged airily, like a blue-fly, from one agglomeration of ordure to another; and he finally suggested a task, not necessary to dwell on, but which reached the utmost height or depth of originality in connection with such a subject. Mr. Lyddon laboured under some shadow of doubt, but he quickly agreed when his man reminded him of the past course of events.
“’Tis nothin’, when all’s said. Who’d doubt if he’d got to choose between that or two year in gaol? He’m lucky, and I’ll tell un so come the marnin’.”
Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for he had planned an act which, if great in the world’s eye, had yet a dark side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from conscience upon the question. He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction. If his sharp tongue had power to deepen the wound awaiting Will’s self-respect, that power would certainly be exercised.
Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for Mr. Lyddon.
“I’d lay down my life smilin’ for un,” he told Chris, who was astounded at his news. “I’ll think for un, an’ act for un, till he’ll feel I’m his very right hand. An’ if I doan’t put a spoke in yellow Billy’s wheel, call me a fule. Snarling auld swine! But Miller! Theer’s gude workin’ religion in that man; he’m a shining light for sartain.”