‘Why, he did say redic’lous things about you and Mrs. F. Ah, the little raskil could n’t so much as leave Mrs. F.’s name out! And he were very oncivil to me—ye ’d scarce believe how oncivil he were. Up and told me straight out as if I did n’t look out you’d be snappin’ up Mrs. F. without “By your leave,” or “With your leave.” But I give it ’en back well, I can tell ’ee. Says I, “My nevvy bain’t a snapper,” says I. Them was my very words. “Ye little treecherous spy,” I says, “don’t ’ee be a-pokin’ your nose into other folks’ business. I know my nevvy,” I says, “and my nevvy bain’t a snapper.”’ Here Isaac paused to chuckle jubilantly, and, turning, slapped his nephew jovially on the back. ‘What do you think of that for an answer, eh?’ ‘Why, that it was an excellent one,’ said Richard, beginning to stride on again so rapidly that his uncle could scarcely keep pace with him. ‘And I told him too,’ pursued the latter, ‘that if he came agen with sich lyin’ tales I’d lay my stick about his shoulders.’ ‘I’m glad you said that,’ exclaimed the young man without turning his head. ‘I’m glad you told him they were lying tales. They _are_ lying tales!’ ‘And the stick,’ Isaac reminded him with modest triumph. ‘I reckon I brought it in rather neat about the stick. Says I, “I bain’t quite so young as I were, but I could make shift to hit ’ee a crack or two yet.”’ ‘I wish I had thrashed him within an inch of his life!’ came the savage comment thrown over Richard’s shoulder. ‘Lard, Richard, how you do lay them long legs o’ yourn to the ground,’ panted Isaac, pausing to wipe his brow. ‘I’m fair out o’ breath. Bide a bit—bide a bit; let me blow. There, don’t ’ee be in sich a takin’, lad. I reckon them there little taps as ye gave Sam’el Cross ’ull keep ’en quiet for some time. He be gone t’other way, anyhow; and it won’t do ’ee no good to run me off my legs.’ Richard came slowly back; his face was fixed and stern, but he spoke more quietly. ‘Uncle, I blame myself to a certain extent for what has happened. I might have guessed that in a gossiping little place like this people would talk if I went so often to Littlecomb. I must keep away altogether for the present.’ ‘Nay now, don’t ’ee let yourself get so upset. What signifies a bit of idle chatter! You don’t need to take no notice of it at all.’ ‘But I will take notice of it,’ cried Richard. ‘I don’t choose that people should take liberties with my name; and what is worse—with hers. I need not assure you, Uncle Isaac, that I have never said one word to Mrs. Fiander that anyone need find fault with.’