"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 for his mother, who drank a little with her supper, and helped himself liberally twice or thrice until the bottle was half emptied. The glamour of the spirit made him optimistic, and he spoke with the pseudo-philosophy that alcohol begets. "Might have been worse, come to think of it. If the things weren't choked, I doubt they'd been near starved. 'Most all the hay's done, an' half what's left--a load or so--I'd promised to a chap out Manaton way. But theer't is--my hand be forced, that's all. So time's saved, if you look at it from a right point." "You'm hard an' braave, an' you've got a way with you 'mong men. Faace life, same as faither did, an' us'll look arter Phoebe an' the childer," said Chris. "I couldn't leave un," declared Will's wife. "'T is my duty to keep along wi'un for better or worse." "Us'll talk 'bout all that later. I be gwaine to act prompt an' sell every stick, an' then away, a free man." "All our furniture an' property!" moaned Phoebe, looking round her in dismay. "All--to the leastest bit o' cracked cloam." "A forced sale brings nought," sighed Damaris. "Theer's hunderds o' pounds o' gude chattels here, an' they doan't go for a penny less than they 'm worth. Because I'm down, ban't no reason for others to try to rob me. If I doan't get fair money I'll make a fire wi' the stuff an' burn every stick of it." "The valuer man, Mr. Bambridge, must be seen, an' bills printed out an' sticked 'pon barn doors an' such-like, same as when Mrs. Lezzard died," said Phoebe. "What'll faither think then?" Will laughed bitterly. "I'll see a few's dabbed up on his awn damned outer walls, if I've got to put 'em theer myself. An' as to the lists, I'll make 'em this very night. Ban't my way to let the dust fall upon a job marked for doin'. To-night I'll draw the items." "Us was gwaine to stay along with 'e, Will," said his mother. "Very gude--as you please. Make shake-downs in the parlour, an' I'll write in the kitchen when you'm gone to bed. Set the ink an' pen an' paper out arter you've cleared away. I'm allowed to be peart enough in matters o' business anyway, though no farmer o' course, arter this."