The little old woman twisted her mouth askew. "Luke," said she, "tha’rt at thy owd tricks again. Tha breeds visions an’ such-like stuff as fast as a cat breeds kitlings, an’ they run all on th’ days when Waynes killed Ratcliffes at ivery crossroad, when ivery fair day war like a pig-killing." "There’s sorrow goes wi’ fighting, an’ there’s mony a gooid life spilt," said the Sexton, "but ’tis sweet for a man’s stomach, for all that, an’ th’ lads grow up likelier for ’t. Look at yond Shameless Wayne, now—wod he be th’ racketty ride-th’-moo’in he is if he hed to carry his life i’ his hand fro’ morn to neet?" "He’d hev no life to carry, most like," retorted Nanny. "He’d do wi’ mending, would th’ lad; but there’s a mony other men-folk i’ like case, an’ I could do wi’ all on ye better if ye war made all ower again. An’ I’ll thank ye, Witherlee, to say nowt agen Shameless Wayne i’ my hearing, for I’ll listen to nowt but gooid of him. There’s more i’ him, let me tell thee, nor thee or onybody hes found out yet." The Sexton set flint to steel and lit his pipe afresh; and a smile lurked fugitive about his mouth. "Well, if there’s owt behind his shamelessness, he’ll hev his chance o’ showing it," he said. "Th’ feud ’ull be up, Nanny, by and by. Last neet Dick Ratcliffe war killed—that’s to mak even deaths on one side an’ on t’ other. To-morn likely or th’ next day after, another Wayne ’ull be fund stretched stark by some roadside; an’ that ’ull be Nicholas Ratcliffe’s way o’ saying, ’Come on, lad’s, an’ fight it out.’ Ay, I’ve seen th’ feud get agate afore this, an’ I know th’ way on ’t." "Then tha should think shame to let thy een brighten so. If tha’d seen th’ face o’ yond lass o’ Waynes, when she came up to me while I war ringing i’ th’ belfry-tower a while back—if tha’d seen th’ poor bairn’s eyes wild for lack o’ th’ tears that wouldn’t come—tha’d sing to a different tune, Luke Witherlee, that tha wod, about this sword-fighting an’ pistoling. Nay, I’ve no patience wi’ thee. Lig thee down on th’ settle, Luke, an’ get to sleep. I’ve a long day afore me to-morn." The little old woman settled herself as comfortably as might be in her rocking-chair, turning her back on Witherlee, and shutting her eyes in token that she had said her last word for the night. But the Sexton still sat on, his pipe-bowl in the hollow of one hand, his eyes upon the grey-red ashes of the peats. Old and gnarled his body was, and shrunken his face; but he was thinking of the fights to come and the heart of him was lusty as a boy’s. Only once did Nanny break the silence. "I cannot thoyle to thin’ o’ th’ way yond little body aboon stairs is sleeping," she said, half rousing herself. "She’s no light sins to carry, an’ wakefulness wod hev shown a likelier sperrit." "Live an’ let live, lass," said Witherlee gently; "an’ when Mistress Wayne hes fund her wits again, ’twill be time to cry out on her for her sins."