“Then I’ll be up and away.  I’ve spoke ‘e fair, Miller—­fair an’ straight—­an’ so you to me.  You won’t allow this match.  Then we’ll wed wi’out your blessin’, an’ sorry I shall be.”

“If that’s your tune, my young rascal, I’ll speak again!  Phoebe’s under age, remember that, and so sure as you dare take her a yard from her awn door you’ll suffer for it.  ’Tis a clink job, you mind—­a prison business; and what’s more, you ’m pleased to speak so plain that I will tu, and tell ’e this.  If you dare to lift up your eyes to my child again, or stop her in the way, or have speech with her, I’ll set p’liceman ’pon ’e!  For a year and more she ’m not her awn mistress; and, at the end of that time, if she doan’t get better sense than to tinker arter a harum-scarum young jackanapes like you, she ban’t a true Lyddon.  Now be off with ‘e an’ doan’t dare to look same way Phoebe ‘s walkin’, no more, else theer’ll be trouble for ’e.”

“Wonnerful language, an’ in a nutshell,” commented Billy, as, blowing rather hard, the miller made an end of his warning.

“Us’ll leave it theer, then, Mr. Lyddon; and you’ll live to be sorry ever you said them words to me.  Ess fay, you’ll live to sing different; for when two ’s set ‘pon a matter o’ marryin’, ban’t fathers nor mothers, nor yet angels, be gwaine to part ’em.  Phoebe an’ me will be man an’ wife some day, sure ’s the sun ’s brighter ’n the mune.  So now you knaw.  Gude night to ’e.”

He took up his hat and departed; Billy held up his hands in mute amazement; but the miller showed no emotion and relighted his pipe.

“The rising generation do take my breath away twenty times a day,” said Mr. Blee.  “To think o’ that bwoy, in li’l frocks awnly yesterday, standin’ theer frontin’ two aged men wi’ such bouldacious language!”

“What would you do, Billy, if the gal was yourn?”

“Same as you, to a hair.  Bid her drop the chap for gude ’n all.  But theer ’s devil’s pepper in that Blanchard.  He ain’t done with yet.”

“Well, well, he won’t shorten my sleep, I promise you.  Near two years is a long time to the young.  Lord knaws wheer a light thing like him will be blawed to, come two years.  Time ’s on my side for certain.  And Phoebe ’s like to change also.”

“Why, a woman’s mind ’s no more ’n a feather in a gale of wind at her time o’ life; though to tell her so ’s the sure way to make her steadfast.”

A moment later Phoebe herself entered.  She had heard Will depart and now, in a fever of impatience, crept with bright, questioning eyes to her father’s chair.  Whereupon Mr. Blee withdrew in a violent hurry.  No one audibly desired him to do so, but a side-look from the girl was enough.

CHAPTER III

EXIT WILL