bring up a fam'ly on! An' he do nothin' but write rhymes, an' tear 'em up again, an' cuss his luck, wi'out tryin' to mend it. I thought something of un wance, when I was no more 'n a bwoy, but as I get up in years I see the emptiness of un."

"He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your sister."

"Not him! Of course, if it's got to be, it will be. I ban't gwaine to see Chris graw into an auld maid. An' come bimebye, when I've saved a few hunderd, I shall set 'em up myself. But she's makin' a big mistake, an', to a friend, I doan't mind tellin' 'e 'tis so."

"I hope you're wrong. They'll be happy together. They have great love each for the other. But, of course, that's nothing to do with me. I merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a matter of business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle him without hurting his feelings. He's a proud man, I fancy."

"Ess; an' pride's a purty fulish coat for poverty, ban't it? I've gived that man as gude advice as ever I gived any man; but what's well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him? Get un a job if you mind to. I shouldn't--not till he shaws better metal and grips the facts o'

life wi' a tighter hand."

"I'll sound him as delicately as I can. It may be that his self-respect would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to command a little money. He wants something of that sort--eh?"

"Doan't knaw but what a hiding wouldn't be so gude for un as anything,"

mused Will. There was no animosity in the reflection. His ill-temper had long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might have considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself within reach of the lash.

"I was welted in my time hard an' often, an' be none the worse," he continued.

Martin smiled and shook his head.

"Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I fear."

There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.

"How's your brother Jan?" he asked.

"He's furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of a volunteer corps. I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge."

"Be you friends now, if I may ax?"

"I tried to be. We live and learn. Things happened to me a while ago that taught me what I didn't know. I spoke to him and reminded him of the long years in Africa. Blood's thicker than water, Blanchard."

"So 'tis. What did he make of it?"

"He looked up and hesitated. Then he shook his head and set his face against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift."

"He's a gude hater."

"Time will bring the best of him to the top again some day. I understand him, I think. We possess more in common than people suppose. We feel deeply and haven't a grain of philosophy between us."

"Well, I reckon I've allus been inclined to deep ways of thought myself; and work up here, wi' nothing to break your thoughts but the sight of a hawk or the twinkle of a rabbit's scut, be very ripening to the mind. If awnly Phoebe was here! Sometimes I'm in a mood to ramp down-long an'

hale her home, whether or no. But I sweats the longing out o' me wi'

work."

"The day will soon come. Time drags with me just now, somehow, but it races with you, I'll warrant. I must get on with my book, and see Hicks and try and persuade him to help me."

"'Tis like your big nature to put it that way. You'rn tu soft-hearted a man to dwell in a house all alone. Let the dead stones bide, Martin, an'

look round for a wife. Theer's more gude advice. Blamed if I doan't advise everybody nowadays! Us must all come to it. Look round about an'

try to love a woman. 'T will surprise 'e an' spoil sleep if you can bring yourself to it. But the cuddlin' of a soft gal doan't weaken man's thews and sinews neither. It hardens 'em, I reckon, an' puts fight in the most poor-spirited twoad as ever failed in love. 'Tis a manly thing, an' 'boldens the heart like; an', arter she's said 'Yes' to 'e, you'll find a wonnerful change come awver life. 'Tis all her, then. The most awnself[8] man feels it more or less, an' gets shook out of his sh.e.l.l.

You'll knaw some day. Of course I speaks as wan auld in love an' married into the bargain."

[8] _Awnself_=selfish.

"You speak from experience, I know. And is Phoebe as wise as you, Will?"

"Waitin' be harder for a wummon. They've less to busy the mind, an' less mind to busy, for that matter."

"That's ungallant."

"I doan't knaw. 'Tis true, anyway. I shouldn't have failed in love wi'

her if she'd been cleverer'n me."

"Or she with you, perhaps?"

"P'r'aps not. Anyway as it stands we'm halves of a whole: made for man and wife. I reckon I weern't wan to miss my way in love like some poor fules, as wastes it wheer they might see't wasn't wanted if they'd got eyes in their heads."

"What it is to be so wise!"

Will laughed joyously in his wisdom.

"Very gude of 'e to say that. 'Tis a happy thing to have sense enough.

Not but we larn an' larn."

"So we should. Well, I must be off now. I'm safe on the Moor to-day!"

"Ess, by the looks of it. Theer'll likely come some mist after noon, but shouldn't be very thick."

So they parted, Blanchard having unconsciously sown the seed of an ugly crop that would take long in reaping. His remarks concerning Clement Hicks were safe enough with Martin, but another had heard them as he worked within earshot of his master. Bonus, though his judgment was scanty, entertained a profound admiration for Will; and thus it came about, that a few days later, when in Chagford, he called at the "Green Man" and made some grave mischief while he sang his master's praises. He extolled the glorious promise of Newtake, and the great improvements already visible thereon; he reflected not a little of Will's own flamboyant manner to the secret entertainment of those gathered in the bar, and presently he drew down upon himself some censure.

Abraham Chown, the police inspector, first shook his head and prophesied speedy destruction of all these hopes; and then Gaffer Lezzard criticised still more forcibly.

"All this big-mouthed talk's cracklin' of thorns under a potsherd,"

hesaid. "You an' him be just two childern playin' at shop in the gutter, an' the gutter's wheer you'll find yourselves 'fore you think to. What do the man _knaw?_ Nothin'."

"Blanchard's a far-seein' chap," answered Sam Bonus stoutly. "An' a gude master; an' us'll stick together, fair or foul."

"You may think it, but wait," said a small man in the corner. Charles Coomstock, nephew of the widow of that name already mentioned, was a wheelwright by trade and went lame, owing to an accident with hot iron in youth.

"Ax Clem," continued Mr. Coomstock. "For all his cranky ways he knaws Blanchard better'n most of us, an' I heard un size up the chap t'other day in a word. He said he hadn't wit enough to keep his brains sweet."

"He'm a braave wan to talk," fired back Bonus. "Him! A poor luny as caan't sc.r.a.pe bra.s.s to keep a wife on. Blanchard, or me either, could crack un in half like a dead stick."

"Not that that's anything for or against," declared Gaffer Lezzard.

"Power of hand's nought against brain."

"It gaws a tidy long way 'pon Dartymoor, however," declared Bonus. "An'

Blanchard doan't set no 'mazin' store on Hicks neither, if it comes to words. I heard un say awnly t'other forenoon that the man was a weak saplin', allus grumblin', an' might be better for a gude hiding."