“Going to work, like?” said Fool Billy, stretching himself with easy unconcern. “Knew you would, though ye’re longer in coming than I looked for.” “Knew I would?” echoed David. “How’s that, lad?” “Ay. Ye said ye were going to Good Intent, and Fool Billy knew ye’d come home by soon, or sooner, and work it off. Ye always do, David, after Good Intent. I’m ready for my playtime, too. Have slept awhile, I, since watching the lile trim wren-bird sitting on her eggs as snug as clover to the ground. Ready to play, David, is this same Billy.” They went into the forge, and got the fire alight and glowing, and David worked till the sweat ran down him, because only in the friendly feel of iron and tools could he find ease. “Billy,” he said, looking up suddenly, “I’m leaving Garth--leaving grey Garth, Billy, and going overseas.” “Why, then, I’m coming with ye,” said the other instantly. “Me to play and ye to work--how would this Fool Billy of a world do without us two?” David took up his hammer again, and made the anvil ring. “Stay and see to Miss Good Intent--stay and watch over her, Billy,” he said. Billy looked steadfastly at his comrade; and, though the fire-glow shone on his face, showing each smooth, unwrinkled curve, David could not understand what was in the natural’s thoughts. It was a half-hour before Billy explained himself. “Best take her with us, David,” he said. CHAPTER X Reuben Gaunt, on the morrow of his holiday at Keta’s Well, woke early. A thrush was piping from the lilac-trees outside his window, and the clean smell of the morning came through the casement. He remembered the magic of that evening walk across the fields, and found resolution come easily to him. His resolution did not fail him when he had breakfasted and ordered the black cob to be saddled. He would ride across to Good Intent, find Cilla’s father, and tell his errand. Yet, while his horse was being saddled, another thought came to him; he was pacing up and down the trim, smooth lawn which, newly-mown, stretched to the low wall bordering the highroad. The house behind him showed big for a yeoman’s, prosperous and well built, and the garden-spaces about the lawn were trimly kept. It looked a good home for a bride to come to. “John Hirst will be busy, likely, about the fields,” he thought, “before I get to Good Intent. Well, then, I’ll ride round by the moor, and take my time about it, and trust to finding him nearer the dinner-hour.” He was not sorry for the respite, as he mounted and turned the cob’s head, not down the broad, white highway to Garth, but up the winding track that led him to the moor. This meeting with Cilla’s father had to be, but he liked it none the better on that account, and he guessed what sort of welcome he would get.