“Dad, dad!” called Maggie rebukingly.
“Ah!” said Mr. Thatcher. “Well, Gabriel, I came here to speak of other matters, too. You never come to my shop?”
“No, Mr. Thatcher, I don’t.”
Maggie was wringing her hands under her apron.
“You farmers don’t know when you’re well off; it would be profitable for you to trade there.”
Maggie stared in dismay at the red mounting under Gabriel’s eyes and flushing the edges of his bald head.
“Is that a bribe ye’re offerin’ me, Mr. Thatcher?” Gabriel asked.
“Ah! no impertinence, if you please,” replied the steward. “As I was saying, Sir Evan is very devout now and much in earnest about having his people churched, so it will be necessary, unless you have a change of opinion, for you to leave Isgubor Newydd in two weeks.”
Mr. Thatcher rapped his gaiter and looked before him into the fire.