“If he’s coom as far as Matherham he’ll stop there t’ night, Maister Oldshaw,” said Tew, the landlord, a small man, ruled by his wife. “T’ ground’s too slaippery for e’er a horse to stand on, lettin’ alone t’ road’s all hill and dale ’tween this and Matherham. Besides, t’ awd house is as bare as a barn; he’d never coom till he’d sent some stuff to put in it, and a coople o’ servants to set it to rights a bit.”
“Well, it ain’t ma way o’ doin’ things, to neame wan day for coomin’ and then to coom another,” said Oldshaw, contemptuously. “But, then, Ah’m naw gentleman, and my lord Stannington ’ll mighty soon wish as he could say same o’ t’ new tenant, Maister Tew.”
Mr. Tew could not afford to have an independent opinion in the presence of the great man of the village, with that miserable Cock and Bottle, not five hundred yards away, gaping for first place as the hostelry of the elite.
“It’s ta mooch to expect to get another tenant like you, Maister Oldshaw,” he said, discreetly.
It was by this time nearly four o’clock, and the grey day was already beginning to darken towards a black evening when Mat Oldshaw, the farmer’s oldest son, who had been sent by his father to the top of the hill on the look-out, re-entered the inn at a pace somewhat faster than his usual shambling gait. He was a tall, round-shouldered lad of about twenty, with fair hair and a weather-tanned face, whose heavy dulness was for the moment lightened by a passing gleam of great excitement.
“Weel, Mat, hast seean a ghoost?” asked his father.
“Naw, feyther; but there’s a cab coomin’ down t’ hill——”
“So Maister Gentleman’s coom, has he?” shouted the farmer, triumphantly; and he had seized his stout ash stick, and was making with ponderous strides for the door, as if with the intention of inflicting bodily chastisement on the insolent new comer, when his son interposed, blushing a deep brick-red to the roots of his hair.
“Eh, but feyther,” he stammered, turning the door handle uneasily, and dividing his glances between the floor, the window, and his father’s boorish face, “it’s na t’ gentleman; it’s nobbut twea lasses.”
After which admission, he fell to blushing more violently than before.