“Martin Grimbal ‘s so gude a friend as any man could have, an’ you did n’t ought to have bullyragged him that way,” she declared.

“You say that!  Ban’t a man to speak his mind to thieves an’ robbers?”

“No such thing.  ‘T is a sacred stone an’ not your property at all.  To refuse ten pound for it!”

“Hold your noise, then, an’ let me mind my business my awn way,” he answered roughly, getting back to bed; but Phoebe was roused and had no intention of speaking less than her mind.

“You ‘m a knaw-nought gert fule,” she said, “an’ so full of silly pride as a turkey-cock.  What ‘s the stone to you if Grimbal wants it?  An’ him taking such a mint of trouble to come by it.  What right have you to fling away ten pounds like that, an’ what ’s the harm to earn gude money honest?  Wonder you ban’t shamed to sell anything.  ’T is enough these times for a body to say wan thing for you to say t’other.”

This rebuke from a tongue that scarcely ever uttered a harsh word startled Will not a little.  He was silent for half a minute, then made reply.

“You can speak like that—­you, my awn wife—­you, as ought to be heart an’ soul with me in everything I do?  An’ the husband I am to ’e.  Then I should reckon I be fairly alone in the world, an’ no mistake—­’cept for mother.”

Phoebe did not answer him.  Her spark of anger was gone and she was passing quickly from temper to tears.

“’T is queer to me how short of friends I ’pear to be gettin’,” confessed Will gloomily.  “I must be differ’nt to what I fancied for I allus felt I could do with a waggon-load of friends.  Yet they ’m droppin’ off.  Coourse I knaw why well enough, tu.  They’ve had wind o’ tight times to Newtake, though how they should I caan’t say, for the farm ‘s got a prosperous look to my eye, an’ them as drops in dinnertime most often finds meat on the table.  Straange a man what takes such level views as me should fall out wi’ his elders so much.”

“‘T is theer fault as often as yours; an’ you’ve got me as well as your mother, Will; an’ you’ve got your son.  Childern knaw the gude from the bad, same as dogs, in a way hid from grawn folks.  Look how the li’l thing do run to ’e ’fore anybody in the world.”

“So he do; an’ if you ’m wise enough to see that, you ought to be wise enough to see I’m right ’bout the gate-post.  Who ’s Martin Grimbal to offer me money?  A self-made man, same as me.  Yet he might have had it, an’ welcome if he’d axed proper.”

“Of course, if you put it so, Will.”

“Theer ’s no ways else to put it as I can see.”

“But for your awn peace of mind it might be wisest to dig the cross up.  I listened by the window an’ heard Billy Blee tellin’ of awful cusses, an’ he ‘s wise wi’out knawin’ it sometimes.”

“That’s all witchcraft an’ stuff an’ nonsense, an’ you ought to knaw better, Phoebe.  ‘T is as bad as setting store on the flight o’ magpies, or gettin’ a dead tooth from the churchyard to cure toothache, an’ such-like folly.”