"Then just thoo leave other folks's business to theirselves, and come thy ways in with thee. Thoo wert allus thrang a-meddlin'."
The innkeeper had gone indoors and drawn himself a draught of ale.
"I allus like to see the ins and oots o' things," he observed, with a twinkle in his eye, and the pot to his mouth.
"Mind as you're not ower keen at seein' the ins and oots o' that pewter."
"I'll be keerful, auld lass."
Hugh Ritson's horse went clattering over the stones of the streets until it came to the house of Mr. Bonnithorne. Then Hugh drew up sharply, jumped from the saddle, tied the reins to the loop in the gate-pier, and rang the bell. In another minute he was standing in the breakfast-room, which was made comfortable by a glowing fire. Mr. Bonnithorne, in dressing-gown and slippers, rose from his easy-chair with a look of surprise.
"Did you hear of the fire at the mill on Saturday night?" asked Hugh in a faltering voice.
Mr. Bonnithorne nodded his head.
"Very unlucky, very," said the lawyer. "The man will want recompense, and the law will support him."
"Tut!—a bagatelle!" said Hugh, with a gesture of impatience.