Jim went on his way, scratching his head from time to time, and casting back sundry furtive glances at his neighbour, who suddenly appeared to him in a new and impressive light.
When he disappeared Joseph went back to his digging, his countenance still wearing an expression of aggrieved virtue. After much pondering on his own conduct, and the circumstances which had led up to it, he had come to look upon himself rather in the light of a martyr, and to consider his recent action not only justifiable, but in a certain sense inspired. He was, therefore, scarcely surprised when, late that evening, Jim Cross came up to him with a deprecating air.
“Me an’ a few of ’em yonder have been a-talkin’ about you, Joseph,” he remarked.
“Have ye?” responded Joseph, with an air of lordly unconcern.
“Aye. We was sayin’ it did seem a bit ’ard to disapp’int ’ee like, when you was so trustful an’ patient, so we agreed as we’d try an’ spare ’ee a few ‘sets’ between us. As I did say, the Lard’ll make it up to we; an’ I d’ think He will, neighbour.”
“He will, sure,” agreed Joseph solemnly, as he held out his grimy hand for the basket which Jim respectfully tendered him.
Next came Ed’ard Boyt with a small, a very small bagful, but a heart overflowing with good-will. Joseph thanked him for his contribution almost with the air of one bestowing a benediction.
“’Tis very well done of ’ee, Ed’ard; an’ ye’ll not be no loser. Nay, you’ll see how things ’ll turn out wi’ ye.”
One after another they came, ending with Jan Domeny, whom Frisby received a little distantly, but on the whole forgivingly.
“’Tis but a pore lot as ye’ve brought me, Jan. I d’ ’low as Ed’ard Boyt have done better nor you. Aye, he’ve done very well for he, such a pore man as he be, an’ such a long fam’ly as he have.”