Tom whistled. "I say—it's not on Molly's account ye are so down as this, lass?"
He walked to the window, and stood with his back to Barnabas' wife.
"Any fool can make a mull," he said; "but I've fancied ye might get atop o' your mistakes; some go down under 'em, but not the best soart. I doan't know, as ye say—an' it's Barnabas ye'd better tell, not me—an' it's oncommon easy to preach. I've not allus found it easy to practise, seein' I was 'started wi' a mistake in the making o' me; but I'm sure o' one thing—Barnabas ain't wantin' in understanding; gi'e him a bit o' a chance, an', happen, he'll help ye better nor ye suppose. An' doan't 'ee think too small beer o' yoursel' either," added Tom. "Ye've got a pretty good share o' pluck, my dear, if ye'd only believe it!"
But when Barnabas' wife had taken his advice and gone in search of the preacher, Tom watched her across the yard, with his queer face screwed into a rather doubtful expression.
"Lord! I hope he'll say the right thing now; I'd like to gi'e him a hint," he said.
The preacher was in the hayloft, hammering at something, with his back to the entrance. He turned round sharply, hammer in hand, when he heard Margaret's step on the ladder.
"I told Cousin Tremnell to keep ye abed, ye were so terribly done last night," he said. "Why didn't ye stay there?"
"I wanted to speak to you; at least, there is something I ought to say——" Meg had got thus far when he interrupted.
"Doan't 'ee for any sake stand afore me looking scared, lass! as if I was a judge and ye were at th' bar; for I can't bear it."
He pulled down a heap of hay while he was speaking, and Meg sat down, burying her face in it. Her heart was beating fast, and her head throbbing; but, after all, it was, perhaps, the man who was most to be pitied. There were few things he would have owned to "not being able to bear".