Over the old man’s shoulder he could see in the distance the little gray building behind the Lugg, that some mocker had ticketed “Lancaster’s Pride.” It had had many tenants, but none had stayed very long. Their courage had not been equal to the dark nights on the lonely waste--nights, when behind the wall a full sea surged and swayed, claiming the land that man had robbed. It stood empty, now, waiting stronger spirits, and it was to this place of fear that Wolf’s heart turned, for from its windows he could look to Ninekyrkes all day long. “Nay, the missis’ll do well enough,” he said, in answer to Lancaster’s speech. “She started yon worriting job nigh on a year back, a matter of a few week afore Brack Holliday landed home. He made such a stir, it kind o’ fixed it in my mind! She’ll likely mend after a bit. Anyway, she’ll not quit the marsh no more than me, that’s sure an’ certain!” “Why, but man, it’s bad enough for her at Ninekyrkes!” the other argued. “It’ll be a good few hundred times worse at the Pride. You’ll never get her to go.” “She’ll gang where I gang!” Wolf said obstinately. “Offer her any other spot on the estate, and see for yourself. She’ll bide all right.” “Well, I can’t say I think you’re wise. Suppose I won’t let you the cottage? I’ve more than half a mind to refuse.” “Then I’ll see his lordship, Mr. Lancaster! It’s not for a steward to be looking awry at a good tenant!” He added, “Begging your pardon, sir!” with instant contrition. Lancaster nodded assurance. “That’s all right, Wolf. But I wish you’d reconsider your decision. I don’t like the idea of your roosting away in that desolate spot.” “It’s desolate, sir, but it’s safe enough. _You’ve_ no call to fear the Lugg, surely?” “Why, no, the bank’s all right!” Lanty answered, with a smile. “There’s never anything my father did but holds good to this day. But, all the same, I don’t want you at the Pride.” “Ay, but all the same you’ll let it me, sir! It’s this way, Mr. Lancaster. Your father, when he’d made sure the Lugg was standing, he’d just time to build yon lile cot afore he died. He’d framed for a many more, but they had to bide. An’, near about the last time he was down, he says to me (I’d been a deal with him up an’ down the marsh, and he was the best friend I had, but yon’s an old story you don’t need to hear), he says to me: ‘Wolf,’ says he, ‘yon’ll be just the spot for you if ever you come to quit the farm. I’ll have been in my grave many a year by then, but my bank’ll see to you for me. I’d like to think of you in the little house, for there’s never a stone nor a plank but will call me to mind. Not but what I know you’ll not forget. I’ll never really die while the Lugg stands and Wolf Whinnerah’s over sod!’ You’ll not say no after that, sir?”