“So ’tis a gert thing.  Sit down; doan’t tramp about.  I lay you’ve been on your feet enough these late hours.”

Will obeyed, but proceeded with his theme, and though his feet were still his hands were not.

“Us be faced wi’ the upbringing an’ edication of un.  I mean him to be brought up to a power o’ knowledge, for theer’s nothin’ like it.  Doan’t you think I be gwaine to shirk doin’ the right thing by un’, Miller, ’cause it aint so.  If ‘twas my last fi’-pun’ note was called up for larnin’ him, he’d have it.”

“Theer’s no gert hurry yet,” declared Billy.  “Awnly you’m right to look in the future and weigh the debt every man owes to the cheel he gets.  He’ll never cost you less thought or halfpence than he do to-day, an’, wi’out croakin’ at such a gay time, I will say he’ll graw into a greater care an’ trouble, every breath he draws.”

“Not him!  Not the way I’m gwaine to bring un up.  Stern an’ strict an’ no nonsense, I promise ’e”

“That’s right.  Tame un from the breast.  I’d like for my paart to think as the very sapling be grawin’ now as’ll give his li’l behind its fust lesson in the ways o’ duty,” declared Mr. Blee.  “Theer ’s certain things you must be flint-hard about, an’ fust comes lying.  Doan’t let un lie; flog it out of un; an’ mind, ’tis better for your arm to ache than for his soul to burn.”

“You leave me to do right by un.  You caan’t teach me, Billy, not bein’ a parent; though I allow what you say is true enough.”

“An’ set un to work early; get un into ways o’ work so soon as he’s able to wear corduroys.  An’ doan’t never let un be cruel to beastes; an’ doan’t let un—­”

“Theer, theer!” cried Mr. Lyddon.  “Have done with ’e!  You speak as fules both, settin’ out rules o’ life for an hour-old babe.  You talk to his mother about taming of un an’ grawing saplings for his better bringing-up.  She’ll tell ‘e a thing or two.  Just mind the slowness o’ growth in the human young.  ’T will be years before theer’s enough of un to beat.”

“They do come very gradual to fulness o’ body an’ reason,” admitted Billy; “and ’t is gude it should be so; ‘t is well all men an’ women ’s got to be childer fust, for they brings brightness an’ joy ’pon the earth as babies, though ’t is mostly changed when they ’m grawed up.  If us could awnly foretell the turnin’ out o’ childern, an’ knaw which ’t was best to drown an’ which to save in tender youth, what a differ’nt world this would be!”

“They ’m poor li’l twoads at fust, no doubt,” said Will to his father-in-law.

“Ess, indeed they be.  ’T is a coorious circumstance, but generally allowed, that humans are the awnly creatures o’ God wi’ understandin’, an’ yet they comes into the world more helpless an’ brainless, an’ bides longer helpless an’ brainless than any other beast knawn.”

“Shouldn’t call ’em ‘beastes’ ‘zactly, seem’ they’ve got the Holy Ghost from the church font ever after,” objected Billy. “’T is the differ’nce between a babe an’ a pup or a kitten.  The wan gets God into un at christenin’, t’ other wouldn’t have no Holy Ghost in un if you baptised un over a hunderd times.  For why?  They ’m not built in the Image.”