"Shameless Wayne is sobered by this time, I’m thinking," dropped Jonas, walking pace for pace with the Sexton down the path that led to the tool-house. "He’s getten a gooidish heart, hes th’ lad, an’ this may weel be th’ making of him." "Ay, he left me drunk t’ other neet, an’ he came back i’ a two-three minutes after sober; an’ when a man gets skifted out o’ liquor so speedy like, he gets a sort o’ hatred on ’t. Leastways, that’s what I’ve noticed more nor once, an’ I reckon it hods gooid at most times." The Sexton’s robin, seeing the chance of dinner going by in spite of all its shy attempts to claim attention, hopped boldly on to Witherlee’s arm. "Now look at that, Jonas!" he cried, "I thowt I niver forgot a promise, an’ here hev I been so thrang wi’ talking o’ what’s past an’ what’s to come that I war all but going off without gi’eing robin redbreast his bit o’ meat. Look at th’ little chap! He fair speaks wi’ yond wick een o’ hisn, an’ his feathers is all piked out to show ’at his belly is cold for hunger. Well, it taks all sorts to mak a world, an’ I niver did see ’at redbreasts war ony way less to be thowt on nor us bigger folk; both sorts go on two legs, an’ both turn their legs toes-uppermost one day, choose how th’ wind blows." "Ay, there isn’t much to choose when it comes to th’ latter end." "Well, I’ll be bidding thee good-day, Jonas," said the Sexton, turning down to the shed. "I mun put th’ broom away, for I doan’t like to see more tools about a kirkyard nor need be; an’ then I’ll turn up a two-three worms for th’ robin. He allus looks on at a burying, does redbreast, an’ I like to think he’ll be well lined i’ th’ innards—it makes a burying more pleasurable, like." Jonas, after nodding a farewell to the Sexton, sauntered down to his tavern, his hands in his pockets, as if there were ample time for everything in this world; and, though he would bestir the maids presently with a rough hand and a rougher tongue, he saw no cause to hurry. "Hast been to hev a look at th’ vault, Jonas?" said a farmer from over Wildwater way, who was just going in for a mug of ale as the landlord entered. "Ay. All’s ship-shape, an’ as neat as a basket of eggs. We shall see a big stir, I reckon." "A bigger stir nor ye think for, mebbe," said the other. "What dost mean, lad?" "Nay, I can’t rightly say—only that when I war crossing th’ moor ower by Wildwater a while back, I see’d a band o’ Ryecollar Ratcliffes come riding up to th’ Lean Man’s door. Their sword-belts were noan empty, awther, an’ they war laughing." "Laughing, war they? There’s a saying that when a Ratcliffe laughs, there’ll be wark for th’ Sexton. How mony strong wod they be, like?" "Six or seven, so far as I could reckon ’em up."