“All I know about heaven,” he said, “and all I want to know, is ’at t’ street called Straight runs through it as well as to it, and if it doesn’t put money in your purse it keeps t’ fountain sweet in your soul, and that’s something. But walking straight doesn’t take t’ bite out o’ t’ teeth of a circ’lar saw when you run your thumb again’ it, and it doesn’t take trouble out o’ life. All t’ same if you’re frightened o’ trouble you’re as like to meet with it on t’ crook’d road as on t’ straight.” “Now look you here, lad,” he continued as his son made no reply; “if you’ll get out o’ t’ cradle and give up supping dill-water, but stand on your feet like a man I’ll help you to plan something out. I’m none for you going back to Baldwin, though I don’t doubt he expects it; and I’m none for you leaving t’ village unless you’re forced. You’re a moorman, and t’ moor’s in your blood as Hannah says, same as it’s i’ mine. It’ll call you and rive at your heart strings if you put t’ sea between you and it. You’d hear t’ pipit ‘peep-peeping’ over t’ heather and t’ jackdaws cawing on Gordel; and you’d see t’ trout leaping i’ t’ beck and t’ dippers plunging their white breasts into t’ water below t’ Cove if you were in t’ thick o’ London streets——” “And it’s a bad end you’d come to, Jagger. Some can do it and be no worse for’t, but there’s naught but ill follows them Drakes that leaves t’ moor; don’t ee do it, my lad!” Grannie’s voice was pleading, and her eyes were troubled. “Let’s hear what father has in his mind,” said Hannah who had joined the group and drawn a chair up to the hearth. Then she turned to her father. “You oughtn’t to plague him with talking of ‘dill-water’ and such like. If it was me it ’ud get my back up.” “Aye, right enough,” said Maniwel with a significance that the girl resented though it left Jagger unmoved; “but I’ll get to t’ point. There’s been a notion i’ my head for some time back ’at we happen couldn’t do better than start i’ business for ourselves. There’s room for two i’ t’ village, if one’s a small ’un, and small we should have to be ’cause all t’ brass we should have ’ud be that three hundred ’at’s lying out at interest wi’ John Clegg. But if Jagger’s willing I’ll call it in, and we’ll fix up a bit of a shop and get to work. It’ll be a poor do if between us we can’t make a living; for if I’ve got shut of an arm I’ve kept my head, and that’ll come in handy when Jagger loses his. T’ big jobs’ll have to go to Baldwin ’cause we shan’t have neither machines nor capital; but there’ll be enough little ’uns to keep some meal i’ t’ barrel, I’ll warrant. What think you, lad?” A complete change had come over Jagger whilst his father was speaking and the face was now that of another man. The brow became unbent and the eyes mild and pleasant. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together slowly like one who anticipates a satisfaction near at hand.