“Tut, man! I never thought of it again. But, as you have spoken, just look here, Pengelly; you people down here seem to be all mad about marriage.”
“Well, I don’t know about mad, sir,” said the miner, apologetically; “but folks do think a deal about coming together.”
“So it seems,” said Geoffrey, grimly.
“Comes natural like, sir,” said Amos, in a quiet, innocent way; “I think it no shame to say I think a deal of Bessie Prawle, and that’s what made me so mad last night.”
“Well, I suppose it was natural, Pengelly. But hang it, man, you must keep that devil of a temper of yours chained.”
“I do, sir; I do,” said the miner, piteously. “I fight with it hard; but you, a fine straight man, don’t know what it is to love a handsome girl like my Bessie, and to feel that you are misshapen and unsightly in her eyes.”
“Well, but they say pretty girls like ugly men, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, smiling.
“Foolish people say many foolish things, sir,” said the miner. “I can’t believe all that. She’s a handsome girl, and she’s as good as she’s handsome, and waits upon her mother hand and foot. I wish I could bring her though to a better way, for they don’t do as they should; and old Prawle makes a mock at all religious talk. Then people say Bess is a witch, and can ill-wish people, and it worries me, sir, knowing as I do how good she is at heart.”
“Well, never mind, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, cheerily. “Some day, perhaps, Miss Bessie yonder will find out that you are like one of the sea-shells, rough outside but bright and soft within. Eh? But come along, let’s see if we can’t find out something worth our while. I want to get a good mine going, my lad.”
“And so do I, sir,” cried the miner. “I want to save money now; and—and—”