“‘Tis nothin’, when all’s said.  Who’d doubt if he’d got to choose between that or two year in gaol?  He’m lucky, and I’ll tell un so come the marnin’.”

Thus matters were left, and the miller retired in some secret shame, for he had planned an act which, if great in the world’s eye, had yet a dark side from his own inner view of it; but Mr. Blee suffered no pang from conscience upon the question.  He heartily disliked Blanchard, and he contemplated the morrow with keen satisfaction.  If his sharp tongue had power to deepen the wound awaiting Will’s self-respect, that power would certainly be exercised.

Meantime the youth himself passed homeward in a glow of admiration for Mr. Lyddon.

“I’d lay down my life smilin’ for un,” he told Chris, who was astounded at his news.  “I’ll think for un, an’ act for un, till he’ll feel I’m his very right hand.  An’ if I doan’t put a spoke in yellow Billy’s wheel, call me a fule.  Snarling auld swine!  But Miller!  Theer’s gude workin’ religion in that man; he’m a shining light for sartain.”

They talked late upon this wondrous turn of fortune, then Will recollected his mother and nothing would serve but that he wrote instantly to tell her of the news.

“It’ll cheer up uncle, tu, I lay,” he said.

“A letter comed while you was out,” answered Chris; “he’m holding his awn, but ’tis doubtful yet how things be gwaine to fare in the upshot.”

“Be it as ’twill, mother can do more ’n any other living woman could for un,” declared Will.

CHAPTER XIV

LOGIC

As Mr. Blee looked out upon a grey morning, the sallows leaping from silver to gold, from bud to blossom, scattered brightness through the dawn, and the lemon catkins of the hazel, the russet tassels of alders, brought light along the river, warmth into the world.  A bell beat five from Chagford Church tower, and the notes came drowsily through morning mists.  Then quick steps followed on the last stroke of the hour and Will stood by Billy’s side in Monks Barton farmyard.  The old man raised his eyes from contemplation of a spade and barrow, bid Blanchard “Good morning” with simulated heartiness, and led the way to work, while Will followed, bringing the tools.  They passed into a shrubbery of syringa bushes twenty yards distant, and the younger man, whose humour had been exceedingly amiable until that moment, now flushed to his eyes before the spectacle of his labour.

“Do ‘e mean that Miller’s got nothin’ for me to do but this?”

“Plenty, plenty, I ’sure ’e; but that ban’t your business, be it?  Theer’s the work, an’ I’d rather ’twas yourn than mine.  Light your pipe an’ go ahead.  Not a purty job, more ’tis; but beggars mustn’t be choosers in this hard world.”

Billy bolted after these remarks.  He heard a growl behind him, but did not look round.  Half an hour later, he crept back again by a circuitous route, watched Will awhile unseen, then stole grinning away to milk the cows.