About an hour before Doubledick was embarked for Roscoff, a group of men employed by Mr. Polwhele as his assistants stood on the bridge spanning the stream that flowed through the village. It was freezing, and they stamped and swung their arms to keep themselves warm.
"'A said he would jine us by half-past nine o'clock," said one.
"Well, church-clock has tolled the half-hour, and 'tis gashly cold. What shall us do, neighbours?" asked a second.
"Go home-along, say I," a third answered. "He be a true man of his word. Half-past nine, 'a said; half-past nine 'a meant, and if he bean't here 'tis a plain token he bean't a-comin'!"
"I tell 'ee what, neighbours," said the man who had first spoken. "We'll gie un five minutes' law, as near as we can guess it by trampin' forth and back; then we'll wend up-along to Dower House and axe un for orders. I'll be sworn he be fillin' up his inside wi' high meat and noble drink."
"Ay, and maybe figgy pudden or squab-pie," said another, licking his lips. "Do 'ee think, now, we bein' pore men all, they'd gie us a croust and a nibleykin, like the rich gaffer and Lazarus?"
"Jown me if we don't go straight as a line and see. Hey! step out, souls all."
They hurried into the village and up the hill, arriving at the Dower House about ten minutes to ten. The house was brightly lit, and from within came sounds of laughter.
"Sech merry doings bean't for we poor souls," remarked one of the men despondently.
"True, neighbour Pollard, we bean't all portigal sons," said another.