Lomax was in a teasing humour, and refused to take the preacher's—or any other—matters seriously.
"Well, of course—if you can't come," murmured Gabriel, with crestfallen looks.
"He can come, Gabriel; and, what is more, I shall see that he does," said Mrs. Lomax, who had entered unobserved.
Griff had given her a hint as to how matters stood, and the old lady was entirely of her son's mind, "that it would make a man of Gabriel."
Griff took his mother in both arms and lifted her as if she had been a baby.
"Oh, you threaten me, little mother, do you?" cried he looking fierce.
"Griff, what a boy you are—put me down again. I shall never be able to train you properly," she added whimsically. "I can't learn the trick of being angry with you."
"Honour thy father and thy mother," murmured Gabriel Hirst, scandalized for the hundredth time by Griff's relations with the old lady. "I wish Griff was more respectful."
The end of it was, of course, that Lomax set off with his friend. Through the churchyard they gained the moor, and thence struck across to the foot of Ling Crag village. The last of the sunset was dying over the heath, and something in the aspect of that well-loved country of his touched an inner chord in the preacher.