you know, just a bit simple.  They said, all of ’em, as how he’d never live to grow up.  He’d get them abscies at the base of the skull, and they’d reach his brain and he’d go raving mad and die.  And the squire—­that’s Mr. Fielding—­was all for putting him away there and then.  But Dick, he’d nursed him all through, and he wouldn’t hear of it.  ‘The boy’s mine,’ he says, ’and I’m going to look after him.’  Mr. Fielding was very cross with him, but that didn’t make no difference.  You see, Dick had got fond of him, and as for Robin, why, he just worshipped Dick.  So there it was left, and Dick gave up all his prospects to keep the boy with him.  He were reading for the law, you see, but he gave it all up and turned schoolmaster, so as he could live here and take care of young Robin.”

“Turned schoolmaster!” Juliet repeated the words.  “He’s something of a scholar then!”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Rickett.  “It’s only the village school, miss.  Mr. Fielding got him the post.  They’re an unruly set of varmints here, but he keeps order among ’em.  He’s quite clever, as you might say, but no, he ain’t a scholard.  He goes in for games, you know, football and the like, tries to teach ’em to play like gentlemen, which he never will, for they’re a low lot, them shore people, and that dirty!  Well, he makes ’em bathe every day in the summer whether they likes it or whether they don’t.  Oh, he does his best to civilize ’em, and all them fisher chaps thinks a deal of him too.  They’ve got a club in the village what Mr. Fielding built for ’em, and he goes along there and gives ’em musical evenings and jollies ’em generally.  They’ll do anything for him, bless you.  But he tells ’em off pretty straight sometimes.  They’ll take it from him, you see, because they respects him.”

“I thought the parson always did that sort of thing,” said Juliet.

Mrs. Rickett uttered a brief, expressive snort.  “He ain’t much use—­except for the church.  He’s old, you see, and he don’t understand ’em.  And he’s scared at them chaps what works the lead mines over at High Shale.  It’s all in this parish, you know.  And they are a horrid rough lot, a deal worse than the fisher-folk.  But Dick he don’t mind ’em.  And he can do anything with ’em too, plays his banjo and sings and makes ’em laugh.  The mines belong to the Farringmore family, you know—­Lord Wilchester owns ’em.  But he never comes near, and a’ course the men gets discontented and difficult.  And they’re a nasty drinking lot too.  Why, the manager—­that’s Mr. Ashcott—­he’s at his wit’s end sometimes.  But Dick—­oh, Dick can always handle ’em, knows ’em inside and out, and their wives too.  Yes, he’s very clever is Dick.  But he’s thrown away in this place.  It’s a pity, you know.  If it weren’t for Robin, it’s my belief that he’d be a great man.  He’s a born leader.  But he’s never had a chance, and it don’t look like as if he ever will now, poor fellow!”

Mrs. Rickett ended mournfully and picked up Juliet’s empty plate.