"'F I may make so bold"--the thick voice of Rob Grimes floated back on a beery chuckle--"some doxy be a-bouncing under him this 'ere moment. Boy's had the look of a stud colt come a year now--blarst it to Jesus, you can't 'old 'em beyant a certain age." "None of that!" said Mr. Hibbs, who for courtesy would never have spoken so to Grimes in the presence of Mr. John Kenny of Roxbury. Rob grunted, uncrushed. "Reuben, hath Benjamin spoke any word to you lately to suggest a disturbance or over-concern with--hm--with----" "With the mounting of smocks? No, sir." "Reuben, I await your apology. I remind you that your favored position doth neither protect nor justify you in assuming the conversation of a roustabout. From evil speech evil conduct. I am waiting." "I'm sorry, sir," said Reuben, and discovered distractedly that he was, a little. Shocking Mr. Hibbs was too cheap a victory. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Hibbs. I do speak heedless, and will try to mend." The great shadow of Gideon Hibbs grunted forgiveness. It almost always did. Uncle John, Reuben thought, is another who forgives much, and why did I never think of _that_ before? It seemed to him that Uncle John, frail and gouty and gray, was somehow closely with them here in the dark. Some day, he thought, I shall be old--well, the devil with that! Why think now of poor old Reuben Cory? Because Ben will go where I cannot? Because an old man must regret the flowers he never touched, mornings when he never saw the sun? But if it is to be medicine--why, then I shall be going where he will not. "_If I said, however, that living is a journey_"--oh, Mr. Welland, what else could it be, and every morning a misty crossroads? "Reuben--could Benjamin by chance have overindulged in liquor?" "I doubt it, sir. Last Monday he did and so did I, but away from home I believe Ben would be careful." Rob Grimes snorted. Clearing his pug nose, maybe. "You do reassure me somewhat." Rob Grimes was calling back: "Mind a puddle here! Och--too bad! Best go about, gentlemen!" Reuben had already seen what lay under the glow of Rob's lantern, the horrible bulge of the puffed belly, the straightened legs, the obscene pool of blood at the nostrils. "Still warm," said Rob, kneeling, running a hand down the miserable neck, in pity or perhaps only regret at the waste of something useful. "Not of Roxbury," he said. "Know every-each nag in the village. A chapman's likely, some louse-eaten chapman bound he'd drag the last half-mile out of the poor old fart. Shit, look at them ribs! A'n't had a fair meal in months." "Reuben! What ails thee, boy?" "Nothing," said Reuben, vomiting. "Well"--Rob Grimes was ignoring the commotion--"well, the knackers'll be along for 'm in the morning." The old man strode on a short way to wait, his squat back shutting the lantern light from the corpse as he studied the windy night.