"Well, he did," Hiram admitted grudgingly. "Eh, but I war mad! He nobbut looked at me once, an’ he said niver a word, but went up an’ dahn th’ furrows, up an’ dahn, till I could hev clouted him i’ th’ lugs. That’s his way lately; he willun’t rate me, or say ’at he wants this doing or wants that—he just taks hod hisseln, an’ shames me into doing twice th’ wark I did for his father." "Where did he learn it all? He studied nowt save th’ inside of a pewter-pot afore th’ trouble began," said Betsy. "That’s what worrits me. I mind that as a lad he war all about th’ fields, doing a bit here an’ a bit there for sport when th’ fancy took him; but he mun be a wick un to frame as he does at jobs nowadays. That’s where ’tis; I think nowt on him, I allus hev said, an’ he’s no business to go farming like an owd hand." "He’s sticking at Marsh, seemingly, spite of all I’ve dinned at him to go to Cranshaw, where his cousins wod be glad to gi’e him shelter," said Nanny. Hiram chuckled. "Well, if he stood up agen thy nattering, he mun be a staunch un. An’ I will say this for th’ lad—he’s showing th’ right sperrit there. There’s none at Marsh but wod hev thowt less on him if he’d turned tail, choose what’s to come." "There’s none at Marsh wi’ a feather-weight o’ wit, then," returned Nanny briskly. "Warn’t it enough ’at they nigh burned th’ house dahn——" "A miss is as gooid as a mile. Ye may tak my word for ’t, we’ll see th’ Waynes come a-top when th’ moil is sattled. Th’ young uns, Maister Griff an’ t’ others, is stiffening fine, an’ all." "I’ve heard as mich," said Bet. "They like as they saved th’ owd place t’ other neet, so I war telled." "Eh, it war worth a load o’ clover to hear how yond lad picked up one o’ th’ gate-stuns an’ skifted th’ Lean Man wi’ ’t. I war i’ th’ courtyard next morn, an’ Shameless Wayne taks th’ ball i’ his hands an’ turns it ower; an’ I never see’d ony chap look so pleased-like an’ proud as he looks at me. ’Hiram,’ says he, ’’tis a tidy weight to lift, this. I warrant yond lad couldn’t do it again in a cool moment.’ ’’Tis a pity he hedn’t a bit more strength,’ says I, ’an’ then he’d hev bruk th’ Lean Man his backbone,’ I says.—Well, tis a two-week sin’ an’ better, an’ we’ve heard nowt no more fro’ Wildwater. They got a bellyful that neet, I’m thinking." "Ye can think too sooin, as th’ saying is," put in Nanny. "Th’ Lean Man is like them crawly hundred-legs ’at ye find i’ th’ walls—th’ more bits ye cut him into, th’ more bits there is to wriggle—each wi’ bits o’ legs of its own, an’ all, to carry it into mischief." "Ay, but they say he wears a daunted look," put in the slattern, stirring the peats with her foot. "Jonas Feather at th’ Bull see’d him riding through Marshcotes awhile back, an’ he niver stayed for a wet-your-whistle—just rode wi’ slouched shoulders, an’ a sort o’ looseness i’ his knees, an’ ivery now an’ then a speedy backard look ower his shoulders, as if——"