“But it couldn't been as bad as if wur Foxey,” Bill urged, “he be the very worsest lot about Marsden.”
“I would do it,” Ned said passionately; “I would do it over and over again, but for the disgrace it would bring on Charlie and Lucy.”
“But there would be no disgrace if oi was to do it, Maister Ned.”
“Yes, there would, Bill—a worse disgrace than if I did it myself. It would be a nice thing to let you get hanged for my affairs; but let him look out—let him try to ill treat Charlie and Lucy, and he will see if I don't get even with him. I am not so much afraid of that—it's the shame of the thing. Only to think that all Marsden should know my mother is going to be married again within a year of my father's death, and that after being his wife she was going to take such a man as this! It's awful, downright awful, Bill!”
“Then what art thou going to do, Maister Ned—run away and 'list for a soldier, or go to sea?”
“I wish I could,” Ned exclaimed. “I would turn my back on Marsden and never come back again, were it not for the little ones. Besides,” he added after a pause, “father's last words were, 'Be kind to mother;' and she will want it more than he ever dreamed of.”
“She will that,” Bill agreed; “leastways unless oi be mistaken. And what be'st going to do now, lad? Be'st agoing whoam?”
“No, I won't go home tonight,” Ned replied. “I must think it over quietly, and it would be worse to bear there than anywhere else. No, I shall just walk about.”
“Thou canst not walk abowt all night, Maister Ned,” Bill said positively; “it bain't to be thowt of. If thou don't mind thou canst have moi bed and oi can sleep on t' floor.”
“No, I couldn't do that,” Ned said, “though I do feel awfully tired and done up; but your brothers would be asking me questions and wondering why I didn't go home. I could not stand that.”