“It's done me a power of good though,” said Robbie shaking his wet hair, and then drying it with a handkerchief which Liza had handed him for the purpose. “I'm a stone for strength,” added Robbie, but rising to his feet he slipped and fell.
“Then didsta nivver hear that a tum'lan stone gedders na moss,” said Mattha.
The jest was untimely, and the three walked on in silence. Once at the house the dinner was soon over, and not even Mrs. Branthwaite's homely, if hesitating, importunity could prevail with Robbie to make a substantial meal.
“Come, lad,” said Matthew, “you've had but a stepmother bit.”
“I've had more than I've eaten at one meal for nigh a month—more than I've taken since that thing happened on the fell,” answered Robbie, rising from the table, strapping his long coat tightly about him with his belt, and tying cords about the wide flanges of his big boots.
“Mattha will sett thee on the road, Robbie,” said Mrs. Branthwaite.
“Nay, nay; I reckon, I'd be scarce welcome. Mayhap the lad has welcomer company.”
This was said in an insinuating tone, and with a knowing inclination of the head towards Liza, whose back was turned while she stole away to the door.
“Nay, now, but nobody shall sett me,” said Robbie, “for I must fly over the dikes like a racehorse.”
“Ye've certainly got a lang stroke o' the grund, Robbie.”