"Rarely, sir, not never. To speak plain, I war main stalled o' ligging on th' kitchen settle, so I like as I thowt I'd try a bit o' sport for myseln. It's a matter o' chance, so to say. I've getten two to-neet just by carring an' biding; another neet I mud ha' hed to bide till morn, an' niver cotch an odd 'un."
"Why didn't you bring Dan o' Smick's or some of the others along with you?"
Will Reddiough drew his lips in, and thrust his cheeks out; he gave forth a low whistle of disgust, tempered with charity for a fellow-mortal's failings.
"Dan's a-coorting, an' he wouldn't stir till latter on. Ye'll be knowing what a sight o' folly a wench can pump into a decent man's body. Then Jack o' Ling Crag, he couldn't come afore his public shut, an' so wi' th' rest. So I like as I thowt——"
"Till later on," echoed Griff, softly. "Does that mean there is fun on hand?"
"Well, sir, I willun't deny there's a mak on a party, like, what's due to meet i' Cringle Wood for a bit o' pheasant-shooiting, soon as th' mooin gets ower Cranshaw Kirk."
"The old lot—Dan o' Smicks, Jack o' Ling Crag, you and Ned Kershaw?"
"Ay, th' owd lot. Jack war for sending word to ye, but Ned Kershaw, he up and said——"
"Said what?"
"Well, 'at ye'd getten your hands full a'ready. Ned allus war one for making a crack," added Reddiough, apologetically.