“I've told you I cannot hold out much longer,” said Joe, “and I cannot.”
“Hod thy tongue, then,” growled Mrs. Garth over the kettle.
There was a minute's silence between them.
The blacksmith donned his upper garments. His mother listened for the simmer and bubble of the water on the fire.
“How far did ye bargain to tak them?”
“To Gaskarth—the little lame fellow will make for the Carlisle coach once they're there?”
“When was t'horse and car to be ready?”
“Nine o'clock forenoon.”
“Then it's full time they were gitten roused.”
Mrs. Garth rose from the stool, hobbled to the door which had been previously indicated by sundry nods and jerks, and gave it two or three sharp raps.