“Don’t mind him, young man,” cried Nannie, leaning out of the cart and fixing an agonized eye on George. “Lord! Mr. Bumpett, what a man you be for your fun! ’Tis all a lie, I tell you. What do I know about Mr. Walters? He’s in Ameriky by this time, and like as not he’s turned into a naked savage wi’ feathers hangin’ down before and behind.”
“Well now, George! Did ’e ever see the like o’ that? Coming down the road she says to me, ‘I know ’e’s here,’ she says; ‘where is he, Mr. Bumpett?’ Tell her what ye think, my lad; where be he? She won’t listen to me.”
For reply Williams turned his back upon the pair, and continued his way up the field. He heard the creak of the springs as the cart started on again. Nannie was almost sobbing.
“You’re a wicked man, Bumpett,” she said, “and if I know anything of the Lord, you’ll smart for this some day.”
Williams was panting by the time he had climbed up to his house, and he flung the door to unlocked behind him, for he did not want Rhys’ society.
“It’s open,” he said, with a backward jerk of his head as the other came up.
“Did she take you?” asked Walters, disregarding the remark. He leaned against the wall, and the semi-darkness which reigned in the cottage could hardly veil the insolence in his eyes.
The other took no notice, but began to untie his neckcloth.
“Ah, you’re deaf and can’t hear me. I suppose you’ve had a punch on the head from her father. There are some men of sense in the world yet.”