shillings a dozen--does that show 'at he's fretting?"

"He didn't do nowt of the sort," said Job, hotly.

"Dusta mean as it were the other one--Hugh?" inquired the miller.

"Maybe that's reet," said Job.

Dick of the Syke was not to be beaten for lack of the logic of
circumlocution.

"Then what for do you say as Paul is weeping his insides out about his
father, when he leaves it to other folks to put a bit of stone over him
and a few scrats on it?"

"Because I do say so," said Job, conclusively.

"And maybe you've got your reasons, Job," said the blacksmith with
insinuating suavity.

"Maybe I have," said the mason. Then softening, he added, "I don't mind
telling you, neither. Yesterday morning when I went to wark I found Paul
Ritson lying full length across his father's grave. His clothes were
soaking with dew, and his face was as white as a Feb'uary mist, and
stiff and set like, and his hair was frosted over same as a pane in the
church window."

"Never!"

"He was like to take no note of me, but I gave him a shake, and called
out, 'What, Mr. Paul! why, what, man! what's this?'"

"And what ever did he say?"

"Say! Nowt. He get hissel' up--and gay stiff in the limbs he looked, to
be sure--and walked off without a word."

Gubblum on the tool chest had removed his pipe from between his lips
during the mason's narrative, and listened with a face of blank
amazement.

"Weel, that is a stiffener," he said, drawing a long breath.

"What's a stiffener?" said Job, sharply.

"That 'at you're telling for gospel truth." Then, turning to the
blacksmith, the peddler pointed the shank of his pipe at the mason, and
said: "What morning was it as he found Paul Ritson taking a bath to
hissel' in the kirk-yard?"

"Why, yesterday morning," said the smith.

"Well, he bangs them all at lying!" said Gubblum.

"What dusta say?" shouted Job, with sudden fury.

"As you've telt us a lie," answered Gubblum.

"Sista, Gubblum, if you don't take that word back I'll--I'll throw you
into the water-butt!"

"And what would I do while you were thrang at that laal job?" asked the
peddler.

The blacksmith interposed.

"Sec a rumpus!" he said; "you're too sudden in your temper, Job."

"Some folks are ower much like their namesakes in the Bible," said
Gubblum, resuming his pipe.

"Then what for did he say it worn't true as I found young Ritson
yesterday morning wet to the skin in the church-yard?" said Job,
ignoring the pedd