There could be no doubt of little Monsey's timidity. All his jests had forsaken him.
Sim had seen the gesture that expressed horror at contact even with his clothes. He was awake to every passing incident with a feverish alertness.
“Let me go,” he said again, with a look of supplicatory appeal.
Old Matthew got up and opened the door.
“Sista, there's some betterment in the weather, now; it teem't awhile ago.”
“What of that?” asked Ralph; but he understood the observation.
“For God's sake let me go,” cried Sim in agony, looking first at one face and then at another.
“No,” said Ralph, and sat down beside him. Robbie had gone back to his bench.
“Ye'll want the bull-grips to keep him quiet,” said old Matthew to Ralph, with a sneer.
“And the ass's barnicles to keep your tongue in your mouth,” added Ralph sternly.