yesself ill, an' then I reckon what ye'll prove satisfied. Ay, but I
wonder ye hav'na more pride.'

But he made no answer, remaining unmoved, as if he had not heard.

Presently, half to himself, without raising his eyes, he murmured:

'Luke be goin' South, Monday.'

'Well, ye canna tak' oop wi' his leavin's anyways. It hasna coom't that,
has it? Ye doan't intend settin' all t' parish a laughin' at ye a second
occasion?'

He flushed dully, and bending over his plate, mechanically began his
supper.

'Wa dang it,' he broke out a minute later, 'd'ye think I heed the
cacklin' o' fifty parishes? Na, not I,' and, with a short, grim laugh,
he brought his fist down heavily on the oak table.

'Ye're daft, Tony,' the old woman blurted.

'Daft or na daft, I tell ye this, mother, that I be forty-six year o'
age this back-end, and there be some things I will na listen to. Rosa
Blencarn's bonny enough for me.'

'Ay, bonny enough--I've na patience wi' ye. Bonny enough--tricked oot
in her furbelows, gallivantin' wi' every royster fra Pe'rith. Bonny
enough--that be all ye think on. She's bin a proper parson's niece--the
giddy, feckless creature, an she'd mak' ye a proper sort o' wife, Tony