For some days after Williams had gone he had been in sore straits. There were few provisions in the cottage, and when they were finished, there was no means of getting more, as he dared not venture out. Fortunately, it wanted but a few days of the Pig-driver’s weekly visit, and he eked out his food till the old man should arrive, fighting his hunger as best he might, and blessing the clear mountain water which ran at the door. As he heard the sound of Bumpett’s squeaky voice one morning in the room above, he felt like a shipwrecked man who sees a sail. Had his visitor been an angel from heaven, instead of an exceedingly wicked old man, he could not have been more welcome.
[CHAPTER XXI
THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR]
WHEN the Pig-driver heard from Rhys that George had gone, apparently for good and all, his rage was great; his tight little lips had only one movement with which to express anything he felt, and they grew yet tighter in a grin as he sat on a log in the underground room and heard the story. His mouth had the appearance of being embedded in his round face. He was angry with Walters for his part in ridding him of such a servant as he could hardly hope to replace, but he did not venture to give his anger the rein, being too much aware of the loneliness of their position. He was a cautious man, and contented himself with laughing immoderately as Rhys told him of his privations, and making some very unseasonable jokes.
“How we do come down i’ the world,” he said sympathetically, taking off his hat and turning it critically round in his hands. “Well, well, to be sure, who would a’ thought, when ye were such a fine figger of a feller at Great Masterhouse, that ye’d come to this?” His eyes twinkled as he spread out his fingers on his knees.
“Little did I think,” he continued, “when I were settin’ down to the fire last night wi’ my drop o’ cider an’ my bit o’ cold goose, that you was starvin’ here like a beggar man, an’ would be thankful to me for any crust o’ bread I could spare ye.”
It was rather a surprise to Bumpett when he saw how willing Rhys Walters was to remain in George’s place, and to do George’s work. He proposed the scheme with considerable caution, expecting an indignant refusal, but the other took it quietly enough, and agreed to serve him as George had done, and to receive his daily food in return and the use of the miserable roof under which they sat.
“Ye bean’t thinking to leave the country then?” said the Pig-driver with some curiosity.
“Not yet,” said Rhys curtly, reddening as he spoke.
The old man looked shrewdly at him out of his pig-eyes.