"No, Peter, I aren't."

"But Prudence is going," said I, drying myself vigorously upon the towel.

"And how," inquired the smith, bending in turn above the bucket in which we performed our ablutions, "and how might you know that, Peter?"

"Because she told me so."

"Told you so, did she?" said George, and immediately plunged his head into the bucket.

"She did," I answered.

"And supposin'," said George, coming up very red in the face, and with the water streaming from his sodden curls, "supposin' she is goin' to the Fair, what's that to me? I don't care wheer she comes, no, nor wheer she goes, neither!" and he shook the water from him as a dog might.

"Are you quite sure, George?"

"Ah! sartin sure. I've been sure of it now ever since she called me--"

"Pooh, nonsense, man! she didn't mean it--women especially young ones--often say things they do not mean--at least, so I am given to understand."

"Ay, but she did mean it," said George, frowning and nodding his head; "but it ain't that, Peter, no, it aren't that, it's the knowin' as she spoke truth when she called me 'coward,' and despisin' me for it in 'er heart, that's wheer it is, Peter."

"Nevertheless, I'm sure she never meant it, George."

"Then let 'er come and tell me so."

"I don't think she'll do that," said I.

"No more do I, Peter." Saying which, he fell to work with the towel even as I had done.

"George," said I after a silence.

"Well, Peter?"

"Has it ever struck you that Prudence is an uncommonly handsome girl?"

"To be sure it 'as, Peter--I were blind else."

"And that other men may see this too?"

"Well, Peter?"

"And some one--even tell her so?" His answer was a long time coming, but come it did at last:

"Well, Peter?"

"And--ask her to marry him, George?" This time he was silent so long that I had tied my neckerchief and drawn on my coat ere he spoke, very heavily and slowly, and without looking at me.

"Why, then, Peter, let 'im. I've told 'ee afore, I don't care wheer she comes nor wheer she goes, she bean't nothin' to me no more, nor I to she. If so be some man 'as a mind to ax 'er for 'isself, all open an' aboveboard, I say again--let 'im. And now, let's talk o' summat else."

"Willingly. There's to be boxing, and single-stick, and wrestling at the Fair, I understand."

"Ay."

"And, they tell me, there is a famous wrestler coming all the way from Cornwall to wrestle the best man for ten guineas."

"Ay, so there be."

"Well?"

"Well, Peter?"

"They were talking about it at 'The Bull' last night--"

"'The Bull'--to be sure--you was at 'The Bull' last night--well?"

"They were saying that you were a mighty wrestler, George, that you were the only man in these parts who could stand up to this Cornishman."

"Ay, I can wrastle a bit, Peter," he replied, speaking in the same heavy, listless manner; "what then?"

"Why then, George, get into your coat, and let's be off."

"Wheer to?"

"The Fair." Black George shook his head.

"What, you won't?"

"No, Peter."

"And why not?"

"Because I aren't got the mind to--because I aren't never goin'

to wrastle no more, Peter--so theer's an end on 't." Yet, in the doorway I paused and looked back.

"George."

"Peter?"

"Won't you come--for friendship's sake?"

Black George picked up his coat, looked at it, and put it down again.

"No, Peter!"

CHAPTER XXXIV