Hiram ceased peering in at the window and opened the door as guardedly as if he feared an ambush.
"I've brought thee some peats fro' Marsh," he said, letting a stream of cold air in with him.
"Ay, an' tha's brought a mort o' cold air, an' all," cried Nanny.
"Well, th' peats 'ull cure that, willun't they?" retorted Hiram.
Nanny went to the cart and turned over the topmost sods; for in Marshcotes they always looked a gift horse in the mouth. "I allus did say th' young Maister war more thowtful-like nor ony lad I've happened on afore. I war dahn at Marsh yestreen, an' I chanced to say summat about being short o' peats——"
"If nobbut shows his want o' sense," growled Hiram. "We shall be short afore we've done wi' this mucky weather. Just like th' Maister, just! Th' Ratcliffes came a two-week sin', an' wasted th' fuel summat fearful by piling it agen th' doors; an' so, thinks th' Maister, when th' shed is nigh empty he cannot find a better time to go scattering peats all up an' dahn th' moorside."
"They say it war Hiram Hey hisseln that telled Red Ratcliffe where to find th' peats," put in the Sexton's wife.
"Begow, who telled thee, Nanny? I thowt I'd kept a close mouth on 't."
"Well, news goes wi' th' wind, as they say, an' it's all ower th' parish by now how wise Hiram war fooled by a Ratcliffe."
Hiram moved to the door. "Dang it, I wish folk hed as mich to do as me, an' then they'd hev no time for gossip," he growled.—"Where mun I stack thy peats, Nanny?"