“Then it was him I saw crossing the moor toward the Druid Stones,” said Joe.
“Then why didn’t you say so?” cried Gwyn, sourly.
“Because I wasn’t sure.”
“Never sure of anything, since you’ve grown so tall,” grumbled Gwyn. “No, I sha’n’t chain up Grip; and I tell him what it is—I’m not going to interfere if the dog goes at him again, for he must have done something bad, or Grip wouldn’t be so fierce.”
The dog pricked up his ears on hearing his name, and gave the rug a few taps with his tail.
“He never so much as growls at any of the other men. Pretty state of things if one can’t have one’s dog about because some man hates him. Pooh! I know, Joe.”
“Know what?”
“He hasn’t got a job yet, and he’s coming for the money father said he was to have till he got an engagement.”
“Did the guv’nor say that, sir?” cried Hardock.
“Yes.”