"A fine old place it is, too," said Griff, thoughtfully. "It's like a sight of other fine old places hereabouts, sir--gone to wrack an' ruin. Ay, I mind th' time when there war more Widdops at Gorsthet nor old Thomas: he war nobbut a young 'un' then, an' I war nobbut a young 'un, an' there war three as bonny lasses--sisters o' Thomas's--as ever stepped i' shoe leather used to cross th' Gorsthet doorstuns day in an' day out. But they're all owered wi', is th' Widdops, an' I misdoubt th' owd spot will be selled, so to say, for th' price of a pint." "There's no telling. Well, Crabtree, your whisky has set me up again, and I think it's about time I was off." "Afore ye go, sir, there's a bit of a matter I wanted to tell ye on. Happen ye've forgetten Joe Strangeways?" Griff perceptibly changed colour. "Not likely," he said brusquely. "Meaning no offence, Mr. Lummax--me that hes known ye, man an' boy, these thirty year. But he's getting forrarder i' drink, is Joe, an' there comes a time when drink 'ull mak th' softest mammy's lad i' th' land shape courageous-like. He's a wind-bag, says t' others; but I've getten my own notions about that, an' he swears at ye summat fearful, sir, nowadays--says he'll hev your life; an' a mak o' foul-mouthed words he's getten to say it in. I'd advise ye to hev a care, an' that's what I set out to tell ye, sir." "It's good of you to bother, Crabtree--but you can trust me to look after myself. Good day." "Short an' sharp, as th' gentry allus is when their women-folk is in case. Nay, nay, they're kittle cattle, is women, an' kittle they mak their men; an' I _should_ hev a right to know," muttered Crabtree, as he strolled into the kitchen to watch the fourth of his wives rolling out the dough for a gooseberry-pasty.