"Not a bit, Jonas. Don't you think a chap feels he's losing blood, without being told he is getting white about the gills."
The Broom-Squire sulkily began to gather up the cards.
"What sort of a night is it, Mehetabel? Go to the door and see," said he.
The girl rose and opened the door.
Without, the night was black as pitch, and in the light that issued the raindrops glittered as they fell. In the trees, in the bushes, on the grass, was the rustle of descending rain.
"By Jove, it's worse than ever," said Iver: "lend me a lantern, or
I shall never reach home."
"I haven't one to spare," replied Bideabout; "the hogs and calves must be tended, and the horse, Old Clutch, littered down. Best way that you have another game with me, and you shall stay the night. We have a spare room and bed."
"I accept with readiness," said Iver.
"Go—get all ready, Matabel. Now, then! you cut, I deal."