“But, Jock!”
“Howd thy tongue, lass. I wean’t drown him, but if I don’t scar him from this lane my name’s not Jock.”
Polly left the kitchen, and the great fellow sat there eating heartily for a time, and then Polly came back.
“Sometimes, lass,” he said, “I think thou ought to hev towd Tom all; sometimes I don’t. Wait a bit till that Serrol Mallow’s gone again, and then tell him all. Hah! he’s a nice ’un, and his brother too. They’re gentlemen, they are. I’m on’y a rough shack. It mak’s me laugh though, Polly, it do. I don’t work, they say. Well, I don’t see as they do, and as owd Bone used to mak’ us read at school, nobody can’t say as Jock Morrison, bad as he is, ever goes neighing after his neighbour’s wife. Theer lass, theer lass, it’s all put away, and I’m down glad as I was wrong.”
“And you will frighten him away, Jock?” said Polly, who looked very bright and pretty now.
“That I will, Polly,” said the great fellow, draining his mug; “and, my lass, I don’t know but what Tom’s reight to sattle down wi’ such a pretty little lass as thou. Mebbe I shall be doing something of the sort myself. Good-bye, lass, good-bye.”
“When—when shall we see you again?” said Polly, in a timid way.
“Don’t know, my lass, but I may be close at hand when no one sees me. I’m a curus, hiding sort of a fellow. Theer, good-bye.”
He stooped and left the house, and Polly saw him go towards the workshop, stop talking for a few minutes, and then go slowly rolling along the lane.
“I’m afraid Jock’s after no good, Polly, my little woman,” said Tom quietly that night. “Ah, well, there’s worse fellows than he.”