ur pocket an' breaks
your heart--not as I've got a heart can be broken."

"If 'e could awnly put more trust in the God of your faithers, my son.
He done for them, why shouldn't He do for you?"

"Better ax Him. Tired of the fam'ly, I reckon."

"You hurt your mother, Will, tellin' so wicked as that."

"An' faither so cruel," sobbed Phoebe. "I doan't knaw what ever us have
done to set him an' God against us so. I've tried that hard; an' you've
toiled till the muscles shawed through your skin; an' the li'l bwoy took
just as he beginned to string words that butivul; an' no sign of another
though't is my endless prayer."

"The ways of Providence--" began Mrs. Blanchard drearily; but Will
stopped her, as she knew he would.

"Doan't mother--I caan't stand no more on that head today. I'll dare
anybody to name Providence more in my house, so long as 'tis mine.
Theer's the facts to shout out 'gainst that rot. A honest, just,
plain-dealin' man--an' look at me."

"Meantime we're ruined an' faither doan't hold out a finger."

"Take it stern an' hard like me. 'Tis all chance drawin' of prize or
blank in gawld diggin'. The 'new chums,' as they call 'em, often finds
the best gawld, 'cause they doan't knaw wheer to look for it, an' goes
pokin' about wheer a skilled man wouldn't. That's the crooked way things
happen in this poor world."

"You wouldn't go--not while I lived, sure? I couldn't draw breath
comfortable wi'out knawin' you was breathin' the same air, my son."

"You'll live to knaw I was in the right. If fortune doan't come to you,
you must go to it, I reckon. Anyways, I ban't gwaine to bide here a
laughing-stock to Chagford; an' you'm the last to ax me to."

"Miller would never let Phoebe go."

"I shouldn't say 'by your leave' to him, I promise'e. He can look on an'
see the coat rottin' off my back in this desert an' watch his darter
gwaine thin as a lath along o' taking so much thought. He can look on at
us, hisself so comfortable as a maggot in a pear, an' see. Not that I'd
take help--not a penny from any man. I'm not gwaine to fail. I'll be a
snug chap yet."

The stolid Chown entered at this moment.

"Butcher'll be up bimebye. An' the last of em's failed down," he said.

"So be it. Now us'll taake our supper," answered his master.

The meal was ready and presently Blanchard, whose present bitter humour
prompted him to simulate a large indifference, made show of enjoying his
food. He brought out the brandy f