‘Nay, that's what I wur wonderin' when yo' axed me if I knew th' way,’ replied the old man.
‘Oh! I beg your pardon; I thought perhaps the snow might throw you off the track.’
‘Throw me off th' track, an' on these moors and o'? Nowe, Mr. Penrose, I hevn't lived on 'em forty years for naught, I con tell yo'.’
‘But when you cannot see your way, what then?’
‘Then I walks by instink.’
And by instinct the two men crossed the wastes of snow towards the Green Fold Clough, through which gorge lay the path that led to the village below.
Just as they traversed the edge of the Red Moss, old Malachi broke the silence by saying:
‘Well, Mr. Penrose, what do yo' think o' yon?’
‘Think of what, Malachi?’ asked the perplexed divine, for neither of them, for some moments, had spoken.