Black George's pipe shivered to fragments on the floor, and as he
leaned forward I saw that his great hands were tightly clenched.
"Gaffer," said he, in a strangled voice, "what do 'ee mean?"
"I means what I says, Jarge."
"How do 'ee know?"
"Bean't I the lass's gran'feyther?"
"Be ye sure, Gaffer--quite sure?"
"Ay--sartin sure--twice this week, an' once the week afore she
forgot to put any salt in the soup--an' that speaks wollums,
Jarge, wollums!" Here, having replaced his snuff-box, the
Ancient put on his hat, nodded, and bobbled away. As for Black
George, he sat there, staring blindly before him long after the
tapping of the Ancient's stick had died away, nor did he heed me
when I spoke, wherefore I laid my hand upon his shoulder.
"Come, George," said I, "another hour, and the screen will be
finished." He started, and, drawing from my hand, looked up at
me very strangely.
"No, Peter," he mumbled, "I aren't a-goin' to work no more
tonight," and as he spoke he rose to his feet.
"What--are you going?" said I, as be crossed to the door.
"Ay, I'm a-goin'." Now, as he went towards his cottage, I saw
him reel, and stagger, like a drunken man.