Part 48 (2/2)
”Gude or bad, you'll be a sight wuss off it you leave it wheer 't is, now you knaw. Theer'll be h.e.l.l to pay if it's let bide now, sure as eggs is eggs an' winter, winter. You'll rue it; you'll gnash awver it; 't will turn against 'e an' rot the root an' blight the ear an' starve the things an' break your heart. Mark me, you'm doin' a cutthroat deed an'
killin' all your awn luck by leavin' it here an hour longer.”
But Will showed no alarm at Mr. Blee's predictions.
”Be it as 't will, you doan't touch my stone--cross or no cross. d.a.m.n the cross! An' you tu, every wan of 'e, dirty night birds!”
Then Martin, who had waited, half hoping that Billy's argument might carry weight, spoke and ended the scene.
”We'll talk no more and we'll do no more,” he said. ”You're wrong in a hundred ways to leave this precious stone to shut a gate and keep in cows, Blanchard. But if you wouldn't heed my letters, I suppose you won't heed my voice.”
”Why the devil should I heed your letters? I told 'e wance for all, didn't I? Be I a man as changes my mind like a cheel?”
”Crooked words won't help 'e, Farmer,” said the stolid Ba.s.sett. ”You 'm wrong, an' you knaw right well you 'm wrong, an' theer'll come a day of reckoning for 'e, sure 's we 'm in a Christian land.”
”Let it come, an' leave me to meet it. An' now, clear out o' this, every wan, or I'll loose the dog 'pon 'e!”
He turned hurriedly as he spoke and fetched the bobtailed sheep-dog on its chain. This he fastened to the stone, then watched the defeated raiders depart. Grimbal had already walked away alone, after directing that a post which he had brought to supersede the cross, should be left at the side of the road. Now, having obeyed his command, Mr. Blee, Bonus, and Ba.s.sett climbed into the cart and slowly pa.s.sed away homewards. The moon had risen clear of earth and threw light sufficient to show Ba.s.sett's white smock still gleaming through the night as Will beheld his enemies depart.
Ten minutes later, while he washed his feet, the farmer told Phoebe of the whole matter, including his earlier meeting with Martin, and the antiquary's offer of money. Upon this subject his wife found herself in complete disagreement with Blanchard, and did not hesitate to say so.
”Martin Grimbal 's so gude a friend as any man could have, an' you did n't ought to have bullyragged him that way,” she declared.
”You say that! Ban't a man to speak his mind to thieves an' robbers?”
”No such thing. 'T is a sacred stone an' not your property at all. To refuse ten pound for it!”
”Hold your noise, then, an' let me mind my business my awn way,” he answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused and had no intention of speaking less than her mind.
”You 'm a knaw-nought gert fule,” she said, ”an' so full of silly pride as a turkey-c.o.c.k. What 's the stone to you if Grimbal wants it? An' him taking such a mint of trouble to come by it. What right have you to fling away ten pounds like that, an' what 's the harm to earn gude money honest? Wonder you ban't shamed to sell anything. 'T is enough these times for a body to say wan thing for you to say t'other.”
This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word startled Will not a little. He was silent for half a minute, then made reply.
”You can speak like that--you, my awn wife--you, as ought to be heart an' soul with me in everything I do? An' the husband I am to 'e. Then I should reckon I be fairly alone in the world, an' no mistake--'cept for mother.”
Phoebe did not answer him. Her spark of anger was gone and she was pa.s.sing quickly from temper to tears.
”'T is queer to me how short of friends I 'pear to be gettin',”
confessed Will gloomily. ”I must be differ'nt to what I fancied for I allus felt I could do with a waggon-load of friends. Yet they 'm droppin' off. Coourse I knaw why well enough, tu. They've had wind o'
tight times to Newtake, though how they should I caan't say, for the farm 's got a prosperous look to my eye, an' them as drops in dinnertime most often finds meat on the table. Straange a man what takes such level views as me should fall out wi' his elders so much.”
”'T is theer fault as often as yours; an' you've got me as well as your mother, Will; an' you've got your son. Childern knaw the gude from the bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn folks. Look how the li'l thing do run to 'e 'fore anybody in the world.”
”So he do; an' if you 'm wise enough to see that, you ought to be wise enough to see I'm right 'bout the gate-post. Who 's Martin Grimbal to offer me money? A self-made man, same as me. Yet he might have had it, an' welcome if he'd axed proper.”
”Of course, if you put it so, Will.”
”Theer 's no ways else to put it as I can see.”
<script>