The old man raised his head frowning, and looked at the boy. But the frown was merely nervous, he had heard nothing. On the other hand, Margaret, whom David had supposed to be in the back kitchen, but who was in reality a few steps behind him, mending something which had gone wrong in her loom, ran forward suddenly to the fire, and bending over her griddle somehow promptly threw down the tongs, making a clatter and commotion, in the midst of which the cakes caught, and old 'Lias moved from the fender, saying fretfully, 'Yo're that orkard wi things, Margret, yo're like a dog dancin.' But in the bustle Margaret had managed to say to David, 'Howd your tongue, noddle-yed, will yo?' And so unexpected was the lightning from her usually mild blue eyes that David sat dumbfounded, and presently sulkily got up to go. Margaret followed him out and down the bit of garden. And at the gate, when they were well out of hearing of 'Lias, she fell on the boy with a torrent of words, gripping him the while with her long thin hand, so that only violence could have released him. Her eyes flamed at him under the brown woollen shawl she wore pinned under her chin; the little emaciated creature became a fury. What did he come there for, 'moiderin 'Lias wi his divilments'? If he ever said a word of such things again, she'd lock the door on him, and he might go to Jenny Crum for his tea. Not a bite or a sup should he ever have in her house again. 'I meant no harm,' said the boy doggedly. 'It wor he towd me about t' witch--it wor he as put it into our yeds--Louie an me.' Margaret exclaimed. So it was he that got 'Lias talking about the Pool in the spring! Some one had been 'cankin wi him about things they didn't owt'--that she knew--'and she might ha thowt it wor' Davy. For that one day's 'worritin ov him' she had had him on her hands for weeks--off his sleep, and off his feed, and like a blighted thing. 'Aye, it's aw play to yo,' she said, trembling all through in her passion, as she held the boy--'it's aw play to yo and your minx of a sister. An if it means deein to the old man hissel, _yo_ don't care! "Margaret," says the doctor to me last week, "if you can keep his mind quiet he may hang on a bit. But you munna let him excite hissel about owt--he mun tak things varra easy. He's like a wilted leaf--nobbut t'least thing will bring it down. He's worn varra thin like, heart an lungs, and aw t' rest of him." An d' yo think I'st sit still an see yo _murder_ him--the poor lamb--afore my eyes--me as ha got nowt else but him i' t' wide warld? No--yo yoong varlet--goo an ast soom one else about Jenny Crum if yo 're just set on meddlin wi divil's wark--but yo'll no trouble my 'Lias.' She took her hands off him, and the boy was going away in a half-sullen silence, when she caught him again. 'Who towd yo about 'Lias an t' Pool, nobbut 'Lias hissel?' 'Uncle Reuben towd me summat.'