"What, ye've not heard his praises then? I may hev my own opinion—ivery man hes a right to that—but Marshcotes an' Ling Crag can find nowt too good to say about him nowadays. Oh, ay, they all grant 'at th' Wayne land is th' best on th' moor, an' ots Maister th' handiest chap wi' sword or farming-tools. 'Tis sad, for sure, that there's such bad blood 'twixt ye an' th' Waynes; but this courtship 'ull mebbe cure it.—Nay, now, doan't be so hasty! I speak according to my lights; they may be poor uns, as Blind Tom o' Trawdon says, but they're all I've getten to go by."
Not a muscle of Hiram's face told how he was enjoying this skirmish with his enemy; only an added watchfulness of eye told that he half expected the other to strike him. His Master was out of sight now, and there was so much gained, whatever chanced to himself. But Ratcliffe lost his anger on the sudden, and turned to Hiram with something near to good-nature in his tone.
"Well, thou'rt dry, Hiram, with a shrewd wit of thy own, but I warn thee for thy own sake not to couple any Wayne with Mistress Ratcliffe in thy gossip.—Ay, and that calls another thing to mind; they say ye Wayne folk cut peats on the Wildwater land last summer, and ever since I've been seeking a chance to tell thee we'll have no more of that."
Hiram, wondering what lay under this change of front, answered slowly. "We're no thiefs, Maister; an' if our peat beds lie foot-to-heel wi' yourn, is that to say we'd ower-step th' boundary? Besides, we've no call to; our side o' th' bed yields better peats——"
"Well, I judge by what I'm told, and our farm-folk told us further that ye had carted some of their own peats as they lay up-ended for the drying."
"Begow, that's a likely tale!" cried Hiram, roused at last. "When we worked noon an' neet for a week, cutting an' drying an' carting, to be telled we——"
"There! Thou'rt honest, Hiram, and I'll take thy word for it," laughed Ratcliffe. "So the peats have lasted, have they? Ours are all but done after this cursed winter."
"Now, what's he at?" muttered Hiram. "When th' Ratcliffe breed hatches a civil word, they allus want stiff payment for 't.—Our peats are lasting fine, an' thankee," he said. "'Tis all a matter o' forethought, an' some fowk hesn't mich o' that. Oh, ay, we've getten a shed-full next to th' mistals, let alone th' stack at th' far-side o' th' yard; an' it's April now, so I reckon we shall see th' winter through. Ye niver catch us tripping down at Marsh."
"Not oft," said Ratcliffe, with a crafty smile.—"Faith, though, thy boasting would move better if it had less to carry, Hiram. We're all at fault once in a while, and I warrant that, if the peats will last, your bedding—bracken and the like,—has fallen short."
"Then ye'll warrant to little purpose," put in Hiram, with triumph, "they lig side by side, th' peats an' th' bedding—an' if ye'll step down an' tak a look at Marsh ye'll find a fairish heap o' both sorts."