"How do 'ee know?"
"Bean't I the lass's gran'feyther?"
"Be ye sure, Gaffer—quite sure?"
"Ay—sartin sure—twice this week, an' once the week afore she forgot to put any salt in the soup—an' that speaks wollums, Jarge, wollums!" Here, having replaced his snuff-box, the Ancient put on his hat, nodded, and bobbled away. As for Black George, he sat there, staring blindly before him long after the tapping of the Ancient's stick had died away, nor did he heed me when I spoke, wherefore I laid my hand upon his shoulder.
"Come, George," said I, "another hour, and the screen will be finished." He started, and, drawing from my hand, looked up at me very strangely.
"No, Peter," he mumbled, "I aren't a-goin' to work no more tonight," and as he spoke he rose to his feet.
"What—are you going?" said I, as he crossed to the door.
"Ay, I'm a-goin'." Now, as he went towards his cottage, I saw him reel, and stagger, like a drunken man.