“It’ll be a sad job, neebours,” said Ambrose, “if so be as Maniwel loses his bits o’ savings after all t’ labour him and Jagger’s put intul their business, and yon Inman’s a lad ’at I’d trust as far as I could trace him. But it’s allus been a sayin’ o’ Maniwel’s ’at when a man’s past mending he’s past fending, and he’s for casting out devils wi’ fair-spokken words. Eh! neebours, but it grieves me to think ’at there’s all these gurt happenin’s i’ t’ village and my poor owd brain a-whirlin’ round same as a lad’s peg-top. If I’d ha’ been i’ my prime I could ha’ made a set o’ grand verses out on it all, but ivery dog has his day, and mine’s near-hand ower. Hows’ever, I hope it’ll be Maniwel, and not yon lad ’at’ll see me put away.” “If you’ve to wait, Ambrose, while Inman puts you away,” said Swithin when the old man’s monody had ended, “you’ll have a few years to live yet; and I should say my-sen ’at Mawm’s finished wi’ him. And good riddance to bad rubbish, says I, though I’m sorry for Nancy, poor lass!” There were others who at that moment were thinking of Nancy. Maniwel and his family were taking counsel together, and even the father’s brow was troubled. “I never once gave her a thought, lad,” he said, lifting his eyes to his son’s face. “It’s awk’ard.” “Awkward!” repeated Jagger. “What you’ve got to do is to say ’at you’ve thought better of it, and let him stop where he is. It was a mad idea to offer all t’ bit we have i’ t’ bank to bail out a scamp like him. I thought you must ha’ lost your senses when I heard you.” “It seems such a shame after all t’ mischief he’s done you,” said Hannah indignantly. “It isn’t as if it ’ud make any difference either, ’cos there’s naught so certain as ’at he’ll get a long sentence at t’ finish.” “Now, mother, it’s your turn, and then we’ll hear what Baldwin has to say.” “Nay,” said Baldwin, with an emphatic movement of the head, “I’m saying naught; it’s none o’ my business.” “Then come, mother!” said Maniwel, with half-humorous encouragement. “He comes off a black moor, Maniwel,” said the old woman. “Them of his breed isn’t to be trusted. They’re slippy as eels, and cunning as foxes, and their heart’s nowt but a bog. They’re t’ devil’s own childer from t’ start...!” “Why, now, I think that’s as far as we need go, mother,” Maniwel interrupted with a twinkle in his eye; “for if we went further we could hardly fare worse. I reckon if he was t’ devil’s own bairn from t’ start it’s time he had a step-father, and as there’s nob’dy else willing it’ll ha’ to be me.