“He’ll be off for Carlisle,” said Robbie, standing square on his legs, and tugging with his cap off at the hair at the back of his head.

“Like eneuf,” answered Mattha, “and likely that’s the safest place for him.  It’s best to sit near the fire when the chimney smokes, thoo knows.”

“He’ll none go for safety, father,” answered Robbie; and turning to Liza, he added, “But what was it you said about Mother Garth?”

“The old witch-wife said that Ralph was wanted for murder,” replied the girl.

“It’s a lie,” said Robbie vehemently.

“I’ll uphod thee there,” said Mattha; “but whatever’s to be done?”

“Why, Robbie must go and fetch Sim back,” said Liza eagerly.

“The lass is right,” said Robbie; “I’ll be off.”  And the young man swung on his heel as though about to carry out his purpose on the instant.

“Stop, stop,” said Mattha; “I reckon the laal tailor’s got farther ner the next cause’y post.  You must come and tak a bite of dinner and set away with summat in yer pocket.”

“Hang the pocket!  I must be off,” said Robbie.  But the old man took him too firmly by the arm to allow of his escape without deliberate rudeness.  They turned and walked towards the weaver’s cottage.

“What a maizelt fool I’ve been to spend my days and nights in this hole!” said Robbie, tipping his finger over his shoulder towards the Red Lion, from which they were walking.

“I’ve oft telt thee so,” said Mattha, not fearing the character of a Job’s comforter.

“And while this bad work has been afoot too,” added Robbie, with a penitent drop of the head.

They had a tributary of the Wyth River to pass on the way to Mattha’s house.  When they came up to it, Robbie cried, “Hold a minute!” Then running to the bank of the stream, he dropt on to his knees, and before his companions could prevent him he had pulled off his cap and plunged his head twice or thrice in the water.

“What, man!” said Mattha, “ye’d want mair ner the strength of men and pitchforks to stand again the like of that.  Why, the water is as biting as a stepmother welcome on a winter’s mornin’ same as this.”

“It’s done me a power of good though,” said Robbie shaking his wet hair, and then drying it with a handkerchief which Liza had handed him for the purpose.  “I’m a stone for strength,” added Robbie, but rising to his feet he slipped and fell.

“Then didsta nivver hear that a tum’lan stone gedders na moss,” said Mattha.

The jest was untimely, and the three walked on in silence.  Once at the house the dinner was soon over, and not even Mrs. Branthwaite’s homely, if hesitating, importunity could prevail with Robbie to make a substantial meal.

“Come, lad,” said Matthew, “you’ve had but a stepmother bit.”

“I’ve had more than I’ve eaten at one meal for nigh a month—­more than I’ve taken since that thing happened on the fell,” answered Robbie, rising from the table, strapping his long coat tightly about him with his belt, and tying cords about the wide flanges of his big boots.