"Gospel truth and the case against law put in a parable," he declared; "but theer's a gude few things to fall out afore the cheel's future performances call for minding. Fegs! He've got to be born fust, come to think of it. 'Tis the mother as you must be busy for, not the cheel; an' I'd warn 'e to fill her mind with gude, salted sense; an' also let her bide in the sunshine so much as her can these dark days. An' doan't let her read no newspapers, for the world's a bloody business by all accounts, with battles an' murders an' sudden deaths every weekday, despite the Litany Sundays—as doan't make a ha'porth o' differ'nce seemin'ly. Keep her off of it; an' never talk 'bout churchyards, nor ghostes, nor butcher's meat, nor any such gory objects."
"I won't—in fact I never do," answered Myles, who was as childlike as the rest of the company upon this subject. "No doubt a calm and reposeful manner of living is the thing."
"Ess," concluded Mr. Ash; "just Bible subjects, an' airly hours, an' such food as she fancies in reason. 'Seek peace and ensue it,' in Scripture phrase. An' leave the rest to Providence. Though in a general way 'tis a gude rule to leave nought to Providence as you can look arter yourself."
"Shall 'e lift your hand to un, maister?" inquired Mr. Collins. "They tell me I was lathered proper by my faither afore I'd grawed two year auld. Do seem a gentle age to wallop a bwoy; yet here I be."
"'Tis a very needful thing indeed," declared Cramphorn—"male an' female for that matter. A bwoy's built to larn through his hide fust, his head arterwards. Hammer 'em! I sez. Better the cheel should holler than the man groan; better the li'l things should kick agin theer faither's shins than kick agin his heart, come they graw."
"If we could only be as wise as our words," said Myles. "I'm sure I gather good advice enough of nights for a king's son to begin life with. So many sensible men I never saw together before. You're likely to kill him with kindness, I think."
The boy Tommy Bates returned home from a walk to Chagford at this moment, with his mouth so full of news that he could not get it out with coherence.
"A poacher to Godleigh last night! Ess fay! An' keeper runned miles an' miles arter un, if he's tellin' truth; an' 'twas Sam Bonus—that anointed rascal from Chaggyford by all accounts. Not that keeper can swear to un, though he's very near positive. Catched un so near as damn it—slippery varmint! An' his pockets all plummed out wi' gert game birds! But theer 'tis—the law ban't strong enough to do nought till the chap's catched red-handed an' brought for trial."
Thus the advent of a precious new life at Endicott's was discussed most gravely and seriously. Mark Endicott indeed not seldom burst a shell of laughter upon so much wisdom, but Stapledon saw nothing to be amused at. To him the subject was more important and fascinating than any upon which thought could be employed, and he permitted no utterance or canon of old custom to escape unweighed. At first he repeated to his wife a little of all that eloquence set flowing when she retired; but Honor always met the subject with a silver-tongued torrent of irreverent laughter, and treated the ripest principles of Mr. Ash and his friends with such contemptuous criticisms that her husband soon held his peace.
Yet he erred in forgetting the blind man's warning under this added provocation of a little one in the bud; he spent all his leisure with his wife; he tried hard to catch her flitting humours, and even succeeded sometimes; but oftener he won a smile and a look of love for the frank failure of his transparent endeavours.