“Words, lad! Naught but words! It’s that I don’t like to hear i’ you. If she favours Inman she’ll wed him, and his neck’ll be safe enough, so we’ll let that pass. What I want you to be sure of is that she’s the right lass for you; and if you’re sure o’ that then I want you to go the right way to get her.”
Maniwel’s eyes were shining with a tender light, and his face looked almost young again as the glow from the grate cast its reflection over it. He was leaning forward a little, searching his son’s face and trying to catch the eyes that were bent downward.
“It’s a fact what grannie says—though I’ve no patience with their silly rhymes, ’at stand for more than t’ Bible wi’ some folks—’at most o’ t’ Clegg women have supped sorrow when they wed. It’s a job when lassies are run after for their brass and not for theirselves, and that’s what’s happened wi’ most o’ t’ Cleggs. When a man and a maid come together, lad, brass has to be thought on; but it’s a poor foundation for a happy home. ‘Love never faileth,’ we read i’ t’ Book,—it stands like t’ Cove; but brass fails oft enough, and so does fancy. Are you sure, lad? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely; “my love for Nancy’ll stand like t’ Cove; there’s naught’ll shake it.”
The father gazed at him in silence, not yet satisfied, but wondering how far it was wise to go and bewailing his lack of woman’s ready intuition.
He was not sure of Nancy—how should he be? But after all that was his son’s affair and one it was ill to meddle with. If they loved each other with all their hearts he would wish them Godspeed in spite of all the doggerel in the witch-wives’ collection.
“Then I’d go t’ straight road wi’ her, lad,” he continued. “Make it in your way to see her before another day’s out, and just tell her ’at you think more of her than of aught else there is i’ t’ wide world. As like as not she’ll say ’at i’ that case you’ll do as she wants you and make friends wi’ Baldwin; and all t’ time it’ll be you and not Baldwin she’s thinking about, and if you’ll only bide your time and look where you’re going, you’ll as like as not come back wi’ your arm round her waist. But women has to be humoured and made to think ’at they’re getting their own way; and when they’ve got a whimsey i’ their head it’s no use taking t’ hammer and punch to it, ’cause that only drives it deeper in; you’ve got t’ use t’ oil-can and loosen it bit by bit till they hardly know they’ve lost it. And i’stead o’ bending your brows while you look like t’ Gordel i’ a thunderstorm it ’ud pay you to put a smile on, and a face like t’ Cove when t’ afternoon sun shines on it. ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you,’ it says on t’ almanack, and t’ worst gift your mother left wi’ you—and, poor lass, she couldn’t help it—was a long face and a quick temper. I’m afraid for you, Jagger, but I wish you well, lad; and I’m stumbling along t’ road your mother ’ud ha’ gone easy.”
The young man looked steadily into his father’s face, but the shadow was still deep on his forehead.
“Then if that’s her last word you’d have me knuckle under to Baldwin, and be t’ laughing stock o’ t’ country-side?” he asked in a low hard voice.
“If I loved her better than aught else i’ t’ world I’d be like t’ man in t’ parable ’at was seeking goodly pearls; I’d sell all ’at I had to get her,” replied his father. “Mind you, lad, I’m straight wi’ you; I don’t think Baldwin’ll have you back; but I daresay he’d like t’ chance o’ refusing you and glorying in it, for little minds take pleasure i’ little things. But i’ that case, you see, you’ll ha’ won your case wi’ Nancy——”