Then the Miser, who would not put on a pair of new boots while an old pair hung together, went through a long day wet-footed, and so received his death-blow. His last conscious utterance was a frantic petition to the medical man from Plymouth, when that worthy told him how all hope was vain.
“Then you did ought to take half fees,” he gasped. “As an honest man, so you did; an’ God’s my witness that, if you don’t, I’ll never give you no peace after I’m took!”
But the physician had a material soul, feared nothing, and held out for his bond after the patient’s departure. Minnie Merle, now a young woman of three-and-twenty, reigned at the “Ring o’ Bells,” and, with sense scarcely to have been expected from one of such youth and peculiar experience, she did wisely as maiden hostess of the little tavern. Albeit not lavish, she gave better value for money than Mr. Merle had given; the inn grew in popularity with the moor-men; and romance of an exciting nature hung about the place, because many husbands were in the air for Minnie, and as yet she had given no sign that the happy man was chosen. To discuss the subject with the woman herself was not possible for men, but Tibby Trout, an ancient gammer who cooked at the “Ring o’ Bells,” enjoyed the complete confidence of her mistress, and all that Minnie desired to publish she merely murmured into Tibby’s ear. The intelligencer had seventy years of experience behind her, and was considered even more artful than old.
Tibby enjoyed to serve in the bar, as a change from the kitchen; and at such times, when her mistress was not by, she would discourse, mete praise and blame, waken hope here, here chasten a mind grown too confident.
“Be it true, Aaron French, as you told a chap to Moreton that you knawed how the cat would jump?” she asked, on a night when the bar was full.
Aaron, a sand-coloured and a sanguine man, grew hot and laughed.
“Why,” he said, “a chap may put wan an’ wan together without any harm.”
“No harm except to hisself. The wan an’ wan you’m putting together in your foolish head—well, her may have named your name thoughtful-like now an’ again, but not these many days now. In fact, you’d best to say nought about her to anybody, for you’m awnly like to look a fule come presently if you do. That man at your elbow might explain if he would.”
Aaron French turned upon the labourer whom Tibby indicated, and sudden anger shook his high-pitched voice into a squeak.
“This be your work, then, Elias Bassett,” he said, furiously. “You to dare! You—the most penniless chap ’pon Dartymoor!”