"Tha'rt drunk," muttered Strangeways, succinctly.
She set her hands on her hips, and grinned into Joe's face.
"Drunk, babby, sayst 'a? Me drunk while tha's sober, tha kittling? Nay, it taks a bottle or two to come it ower Mother Strangeways. I tell thee it wobbles, does th' eight-day clock. Lad, tha mud do thy grandam a sarvice." Her eyes grew bright with a sudden earnestness. "Bring a two or three screw-nails wi' thee th' next time tha comes, an' fasten th' clock to th' wall; it'll happen keep me a while longer."
"Tha'rt feared o' th' grave, seemingly, if tha'rt noan feared o' th' devil," sneered the man.
She was quiet for awhile; then she kicked the smouldering peat into a whirr of angry sparks.
"Ay, that I am, till I've settled old scores wi' them Lummaxes. It's little rest there'd be for Rachel Strangeways, ligging i' her grave, if Griff an' his mother war laughing aboon sod. An' all to be done by myseln," she added reflectively; "me eighty an' more, wi' only a misbegotten fooil of a man to help me—an' him sitting, stark-witted, wi' his clumsy hands i' his pockets. Joe, durst 'a kill young Griff, if tha'd getten him safe to grund, nobbut wanting a stamp o' thy foot to finish him?"
"I durst that; thee bide till I've getten th' chance; thee bide a bit."
"I've bided ower long a'ready."
They fell into a moody silence. A gleam of triumph shot into Rachel's skinny face.