is face, while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was
not commonplace; for its eyes were remarkable, and the cast of thought
ennobled it as a whole.

Will entered the cottage kitchen and began instantly to unfold his
experiences.

"You knaw me--a man with a level head, as leaps after looking, not
afore. I put nothing but plain reason to him and he flouted me like you
might a cheel. An' I be gwaine to make him eat his words--such hard
words as they was tu! Think of it! Me an' Phoebe never to meet no more!
The folly of sayin' such a thing! Wouldn't 'e reckon that grey hairs
knawed better than to fancy words can keep lovers apart?"

"Grey hairs cover old brains; and old brains forget what it feels like
to have a body full o' young blood. The best memory can't keep the
feeling of youth fresh in a man."

"Well, I ban't the hot-headed twoad Miller Lyddon thinks, or pretends he
thinks, anyway. I'll shaw un! I can wait, an' Phoebe can wait, an' now
she'll have to. I'm gwaine away."

"Going away. Why?"

"To shaw what 's in me. I ban't sorry for this for some things. Now no
man shall say that I'm a home-stayin' gaby, tramping up an' down Teign
Vale for a living. I'll step out into the wide world, same as them
Grimbals done. They 'm back again made of money, the pair of 'em."

"It took them fifteen years and more, and they were marvellously lucky."

"What then? I'm as like to fare well as they. I've worked out a
far-reaching plan, but the first step I've thought on 's terrible
coorious, an' I reckon nobody but you'd see how it led to better things.
But you 'm book-larned and wise in your way, though I wish your wisdom
had done more for yourself than it has. Anyway, you 'm tokened to Chris
and will be one of the family some day perhaps when Mother Coomstock
dies, so I'll leave my secret with you. But not a soul else--not mother
even. So you must swear you'll never tell to man or woman or cheel what
I've done and wheer I be gone."

"I'll swear if you like."

"By the livin' God."

"By any God you believe is alive."

"Say it, then."

"By the living God, I, Clement Hicks, bee-master of Chagford, Devon,
swear to keep the secret of my friend and neighbour, William Blanchard,
whatever it is."

"And may He tear the life out of you if you so much as think to tell."

Hicks laughed and shook his hair from his forehead.

"You're suspicious of the best friend you've got in the world."

"Not a spark. But I want you to see w