“No, sir,” said Mrs. Goudie, “I hadn’t ‘a’ heard of it.”

“Then that proves how close he kept.  No doubt he came and went as surreptitiously as he could.  Let it be between ourselves, Mrs. Goudie.  Don’t spread the tale an inch beyond us three.”

“I will not, sir.  But, oh, well-a-day, it’s a bad bit o’ news, sir.  I did hope Mr. Bates was cured o’ that runnin’ sore.”

She had been summoned from the kitchen just before leaving for the night; and with her shawl over her head, her wrinkled face working, and her bony hands clasped she stood near the table and waited for Mr. Dale to give the signal for her to withdraw.

“If you should see him, at any time, let me know, Mrs. Goudie.”

“I will, sir.”

“I might perhaps do good, if I could get hold of him on the quiet and address a few words to him.”

“I wish you’d break his neck for him, yes, I do, indeed I do.  I could tell you things as ’d make any one say hanging was too good for him.”

And, encouraged to talk freely, Mrs. Goudie told Mavis and Dale, what indeed she had often told them before, of the shocking badness of Richard Bates and the ugly scenes that had taken place in this very house; of how he bullied his father to give him money, storming and raving like a lunatic when resisted; and of how the old fellow alone by himself had groaned and wept and prayed.  Mrs. Goudie had heard him, after a most dreadful quarrel, praying out loud in his room up-stairs.

“An’ believe me, sir, he was a praying for his son all the time—­imploring of the Lord to soften his heart like, and save him from the hell-fire that his conduct asked for.  You know, sir, he’s a very God-fearing man, Mr. Bates.”

XVII

The action of the Dales in regard to Norah Veale did not pass unnoticed.  “They do tell me,” said humble folk quite far afield, “that Mr. Dale up to Vine-Pits hev adapted little Norrer Veale same as if ‘twas his own darter; and I sin her myself ridin’ to her schoolin’ in Mr. Dale’s wagon.  I allus held that Abe Veale was born a lucky one, fer nobody ever comes adapting my childer; an’ how hey he kep’ out o’ jail all his days, if ’tisn’t the luck?”

Nearer home, so striking an instance of kindness encouraged the cottagers to do more freely what already they were doing with considerable freedom:  that is, to regard Vine-Pits Farm, and especially the parts of it presided over by Mrs. Dale, as the proper place to go in all moments of embarrassment or tribulation.  Thus the flagged path by the walnut tree, the wooden bench beneath the window, and the open kitchen door, tended to become a sort of court where Mavis had to listen to an ever-increasing number of applicants.