"Lad, it's th' best news I've heärd for mony a long day, this o' young Lummax's wedding Kate. Let 'em be, an' Griff 'ull find his mistake out; she's noan his sort, an' he's noan hers—they'll fratch, an' proper, after a two or three week. Teed by th' tail, teed by th' tail; lad, they'll scrat each other's een out!"
The bottle was finished, and Joe felt no further inducement to stay.
"Good neet, mother. I'm wishing tha'd talk a bit less an' do a bit more."
Rachel gave vent to her tongue at that, and rated him till her face went purple. But she changed her key just as Joe was shutting the door behind him.
"Joe, lad!" she called.
He pushed his head round the corner.
"Hast a' nearly done wi' thy foulness, or how like?" he demanded.
"Ay, I've done. Tha willun't forget th' screw-nails, wilt 'a? Day in an' day out th' owd clock wobbles summat fearful."
"I'll noan forget." And he shuffled off into the moonlight.
About the time that Mother Strangeways was cursing her grandson by every epithet known to the brisk upland vocabulary, Lomax and Kate were talking together in the cosy Manor parlour.