Will reflected a moment; but the other had not knowledge of character to observe or realise that he was slowly becoming reasonable.

“So I do pride myself on my common sense, an’ I’ve some right to.  A cross is a cross—­I allow that—­and whatever I may think, I ban’t so small-minded as to fall foul of them as think differ’nt.  My awn mother be a church-goer for that matter, an’ you’ll look far ways for her equal.  But of coourse I knaw what I knaw.  Me an’ Hicks talked out matters of religion so dry as chaff.”

“Yet a cross means much to many, and always will while the land continues to call itself Christian.”

“I knaw, I knaw.  ‘Twill call itself Christian long arter your time an’ mine; as to bein’ Christian—­that’s another story.  Clem Hicks lightened such matters to me—­fule though he was in the ordering of his awn life.  But s’pose you digs the post up, for argeyment’s sake.  What about me, as have to go out ‘pon the Moor an’ blast another new wan out the virgin granite wi’ gunpowder?  Do’e think I’ve nothin’ better to do with my time than that?”

Here, in his supreme anxiety and eagerness, forgetting the manner of man he argued with, Martin made a fatal mistake.

“That’s reasonable and business-like,” he said.  “I wouldn’t have you suffer for lost time, which is part of your living.  I’ll give you ten pounds for the stone, Will, and that should more than pay for your time and for the new post.”

He glanced into the other’s face and instantly saw his error.  The farmer’s countenance clouded and his features darkened until he looked like an angry Redskin.  His eyes glinted steel-bright under a ferocious frown; the squareness of his jaw became much marked.

“You dare to say that, do’e?  An’ me as good a man, an’ better, than you or your brother either!  Money—­you remind me I’m—­Theer!  You can go to blue, blazin’ hell for your granite crosses—­that’s wheer you can go—­you or any other poking, prying pelican!  Offer money to me, would ’e?  Who be you, or any other man, to offer me money for wasted time?  As if I was a road scavenger or another man’s servant!  God’s truth! you forget who you’m talkin’ to!”

“This is to purposely misunderstand me, Blanchard.  I never, never, meant any such thing.  Am I one to gratuitously insult or offend another?  Typical this!  Your cursed temper it is that keeps you back in the world and makes a failure of you,” answered the student of stones, his own temper nearly lost under exceptional provocation.

“Who says I be a failure?” roared Will in return.  “What do you know, you grey, dreamin’ fule, as to whether I’m successful or not so?  Get you gone off my land or—­”

“I’ll go, and readily enough.  I believe you’re mad.  That’s the conclusion I’m reluctantly driven to—­mad.  But don’t for an instant imagine your lunatic stupidity is going to stand between the world and this discovery, because it isn’t.”