"What the hangment do ye mean by it, Mr. Higgins? Have ye no 'eart at all? Ye'll never miss t' tree. I'll give you two just as good out of our own garden, hanged if I won't. Let him take t' tree, an' we'll be going."
"He—leaves—that—tree—where—it—is," replied Barjona with emphasis; "an' ye can all clear out o' this garden.... That tree's mine."
Ben took Ted's arm, but the old man refused to move. A tear forced its way out of the corner of his eye, and he drew a red cotton handkerchief from his trousers' pocket and wiped it away.
"Barjona, lad," he pleaded tremulously, "only just this one tree—nowt else; just this one tree, there's a good lad."
"I've said my say," replied Barjona.
"Take no notice of him, Ted," said Ben. "I'll give you one o' t' grandest rose-trees i' Yorkshire. Let t' old skinflint have his tree."
"Nay, but I mun hev it, I mun hev it," moaned the old man. "I mun hev it, lad; I mun hev it."
I wondered if I could influence Barjona, and I stepped up to him.
"Mr. Higgins, you see how distressed Ted is. Surely you will not make the parting more bitter for him. Think how unpleasant it will be for you to live among us if you make us all your enemies."
"Much obliged, Miss 'Olden.... If you mind your business ... I'll mind mine."