“No, no, never,” declared Damaris; “’t is contrary to all reason.”

“‘T is true, whether or no; an’ any fule, let alone a man as knaws like I do, would tell ’e the same.  ’T is common sense if you axes me.  Your man was told ‘t was a blessed cross, an’ he flouted the lot of us an’ left it wheer ’t was.  ’T is a challenge, if you come to think of it, a scoffin’ of the A’mighty to the very face of Un.  I wouldn’t stand it myself if I was Him.”

“Will, do ’e hear Mr. Blee?” asked Phoebe.

“I hear un.  ’T is tu late now, even if what he said was true, which it ban’t.”

“Never tu late to do a gude deed,” declared Billy; “an’ you’ll have to come to it, or you’ll get the skin cussed off your back afore you ’m done with.  Gormed if ever I seed sich a man as you!  Theer be some gude points about ’e, as everything must have from God A’mighty’s workshop, down to poisonous varmints.  But certain sure am I that you don’t ought to think twice ’pon this job.”

“Do ‘e mean it might even make the differ’nee between life an’ death to the bwoy?” asked Phoebe breathlessly.

“I do.  Just all that.”

“Will—­for God’s love, Will!”

“What do ’e say, mother?”

“It may be truth.  Strange things fall out.  Yet it never hurted my parents in the past.”

“For why?” asked Billy. “’Cause they didn’t knaw ’t was theer, so allowance was made by the Watching Eye.  Now ‘t is differ’nt, an’ His rage be waxing.”

“Your blessed God ‘s got no common sense, then—­an’ that’s all I’ve got to say ’bout it.  What would you have me do?”

Will put the question to Mr. Blee, but his wife it was who answered, being now worked up to a pitch of frenzy at the delay.

“Go!  Dig—­dig as you never digged afore!  Dig the holy stone out the ground direckly minute!  Now, now, Will, ’fore the life’s out of his li’l flutterin’ body.  Lay bare the cross, an’ drag un out for God in heaven to see!  Doan’t stand clackin’ theer, when every moment’s worth more’n gawld.”

“So like’s not He’ll forgive ’e if ’e do,” argued Mr. Blee.  “Allowed the Lard o’ Hosts graws a bit short in His temper now an’ again, as with them gormed Israelites, an’ sich like, an’ small blame to Him; but He’s all for mercy at heart, ‘cordin’ to the opinion of these times, so you’d best to dig.”

“Why doan’t he strike me down if I’ve angered Him—­not this innocent cheel?”

“The sins of the fathers be visited—­” began Mr. Blee glibly, when Mrs. Blanchard interrupted.

“Ban’t the time to argue, Will.  Do it, an’ do it sharp, if’t will add wan grain o’ hope to the baaby’s chance.”

The younger woman’s sufferings rose to a frantic half-hushed scream at the protracted delay.

“O Christ, why for do ‘e hold back?  Ban’t anything worth tryin’ for your awn son?  I’d scratch the stone out wi’ my raw, bleedin’ finger-bones if I was a man.  Do ’e want to send me mad?  Do ’e want to make me hate the sight of ’e?  Go—­go for love of your mother, if not of me!”