In the porch sat Job, with Old Amos and the rest, still in solemn conclave over pipes and ale, who watched with gloomy brows as I swung myself up beside the Ancient in the cart.
"A fule's journey!" remarked Old Amos sententiously, with a wave of his pipe; "a fule's journey!"
The Ancient cast an observing eye up at the cloudless sky, and also nodded solemnly.
"Theer be some fules in this world, Peter, as mixes up rabbits wi' pa'tridges, and honest men—like Jarge—wi' thieves, an' lazy waggabones—like Job—but we'll show 'em, Peter, we'll show 'em—dang 'em! Drive on, Simon, my bye!"
So, with this Parthian shot, feathered with the one strong word the Ancient kept for such occasions, we drove away from the silenced group, who stared mutely after us until we were lost to view. But the last thing I saw was the light in Prue's sweet eyes as she watched us from the open lattice.
CHAPTER XXXII
HOW WE SET OUT FOR BURNHAM HALL
"Peter," said the Ancient, after we had gone a little way, "Peter, I do 'opes as you aren't been an' gone an' rose my Prue's 'opes only to dash 'em down again."
"I can but do my best, Ancient."
"Old Un," said Simon, "'tweren't Peter as rose 'er 'opes, 'twere you;
Peter never said nowt about bringin' Jarge 'ome—"