“You see, if I may venture to say so, Chris—­”

“I knaw all ’bout that.  ‘Tis like your gudeness to try an’ put a li’l money in his pocket wi’out stepping on his corns.  They ’m tokened.  Young people ‘s so muddle-headed.  Bees indeed!  Nice things to keep a wife an’ bring up a fam’ly on!  An’ he do nothin’ but write rhymes, an’ tear ’em up again, an’ cuss his luck, wi’out tryin’ to mend it.  I thought something of un wance, when I was no more ’n a bwoy, but as I get up in years I see the emptiness of un.”

“He would grow happy and sweeter-hearted if he could marry your sister.”

“Not him!  Of course, if it’s got to be, it will be.  I ban’t gwaine to see Chris graw into an auld maid.  An’ come bimebye, when I’ve saved a few hunderd, I shall set ’em up myself.  But she’s makin’ a big mistake, an’, to a friend, I doan’t mind tellin’ ’e ’tis so.”

“I hope you’re wrong.  They’ll be happy together.  They have great love each for the other.  But, of course, that’s nothing to do with me.  I merely want Hicks to undertake some clerical work for me, as a matter of business, and I thought you might tell me the best way to tackle him without hurting his feelings.  He’s a proud man, I fancy.”

“Ess; an’ pride’s a purty fulish coat for poverty, ban’t it?  I’ve gived that man as gude advice as ever I gived any man; but what’s well-thought-out wisdom to the likes of him?  Get un a job if you mind to.  I shouldn’t—­not till he shaws better metal and grips the facts o’ life wi’ a tighter hand.”

“I’ll sound him as delicately as I can.  It may be that his self-respect would strengthen if he found his talents appreciated and able to command a little money.  He wants something of that sort—­eh?”

“Doan’t knaw but what a hiding wouldn’t be so gude for un as anything,” mused Will.  There was no animosity in the reflection.  His ill-temper had long since vanished, and he considered Clement as he might have considered a young, wayward dog which had erred and brought itself within reach of the lash.

“I was welted in my time hard an’ often, an’ be none the worse,” he continued.

Martin smiled and shook his head.

“Might have served him once; too late now for that remedy, I fear.”

There was a brief pause, then Will changed the conversation abruptly.

“How’s your brother Jan?” he asked.

“He’s furnishing his new house and busy about the formation of a volunteer corps.  I met him not long since in Fingle Gorge.”

“Be you friends now, if I may ax?”

“I tried to be.  We live and learn.  Things happened to me a while ago that taught me what I didn’t know.  I spoke to him and reminded him of the long years in Africa.  Blood’s thicker than water, Blanchard.”

“So ’tis.  What did he make of it?”

“He looked up and hesitated.  Then he shook his head and set his face against me, and said he would not have my friendship as a gift.”