“Theer’s truth in that,” said Will; then he recollected his last meeting with the miller’s man, and suddenly roared with laughter.
“’Struth! What a picter he was! He agged an’ agged at me till I got fair mad, an’—well, I spiled his meal, I do b’lieve.”
His merriment died away slowly in a series of long-drawn chuckles. Then he lighted his pipe, watched Chris cleaning the cups and plates, and grew glum again.
“’Twas axin’ me—a penniless chap; that was the devil of it. If I’d been a moneyed man wi’out compulsion to work, then I’d have been free to say ‘No,’ an’ no harm done. De’e follow?”
“I’m thankful you done as you did. But wheer shall ’e turn now?”
“Doan’t knaw. I’ll lay I’ll soon find work.”
“Theer’s some of the upland farms might be wanting harrowin’ an’ seed plantin’ done.”
“Who’s to Newtake, Gran’faither Ford’s auld plaace, I wonder?”
“’Tis empty. The last folks left ’fore you went away. Couldn’t squeeze bare life out of it. That’s the fourth party as have tried an’ failed.”
“Yet gran’faither done all right.”