herefore held that
everything was for the best, and counselled patience; whereupon her son,
with a month's wasted toil staring him in the face, rebelled and took
her unconcerned demeanour ill. Damaris also brought a letter from
Phoebe, and this added fuel to the flame. Will dwelt upon his wife's
absence bitterly.

"Job's self never suffered that, for I read 'bout what he went through
awnly last night, for somethin' to kill an hour in the evenin'. An' I
won't suffer it. It's contrary to nature, an' if Phoebe ban't here come
winter I'll go down an' bring her, willy-nilly."

"Time'll pass soon enough, my son. Next summer will be here quick. Then
her'll have grawin' corn to look at and fine crops risin', an' more
things feedin' on the Moor in sight of her eyes. You see, upland farms
do look a little thin to them who have lived all their time in the
fatness of the valleys."

"If I was bidin' in one of them stone roundy-poundies, with nothin' but
a dog-kennel for a home, she ought to be shoulder to shoulder wi' me.
Did you leave my faither cause other people didn't love un?"

"That was differ'nt. Theer s Miller Lyddon. I could much wish you seed
more of him an' let un come by a better 'pinion of 'e. 'T s awnly
worldly wisdom, true; but--"

"I'm sick to death o' worldly wisdom! What's it done for me? I stand to
work nine an' ten hour a day, an' not wi'out my share o' worldly wisdom,
neither. Then I'm played with an' left to whistle, I ban't gwaine to
think so much, I tell 'e. It awnly hurts a man's head, an' keeps him
wakin' o' nights. Life's guess-work, by the looks of it, an' a fule's so
like to draw a prize as the wisest."

"That's not the talk as'll make Newtake pay, Will. You 'm worse than
poor Blee to Monks Barton. He's gwaine round givin' out theer ban't no
God 't all, 'cause Mrs. Coomstock took auld Lezzard 'stead of him."

"You may laugh if you like, mother. 'Tis the fashion to laugh at me
seemin'ly. But I doan't care. Awnly you'll be sorry some day, so sure as
you sit in thicky chair. Now, as you've nothin' but blame, best to go
back home. I'll put your pony in the shafts. 'Twas a pity you corned so
far for so little."

He went off, his breast heaving, while the woman followed him with her
eyes and smiled when he was out of sight. She knew him so well, and
already pictured her repentant son next Sunday. Then Will would be at
his mother's cottage, and cut the bit of beef at dinner, and fuss over
her comfort