“Busy,” said the old man, shortly.
Pengelly stood looking down at him for some few minutes, wanting to speak, but flinching from his task.
“Well,” said the old man at last, “what is it? Ye’re a strange chap, Amos Pengelly. Ye won’t drink nor smoke a pipe, only stand and stare and glower, as if you was too good to mix with the like o’ me. Now speak out, or else go.”
“I want to know if it’s all true, Master Prawle?”
“If what’s all true?”
“What I’ve heard up churchtown.”
“How do I know what you’ve heard up churchtown? I was there this morning, and I heard that Wheal Carnac was flooded. Is that what you mean?”
“No, Master Prawle. I mean—I mean about Mullion’s lass. Is she here?”
The old man took his pipe from his mouth, and nodded.
“Did Master Trethick bring her here last night?”