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“Don’t ’ee be sich a fool, Father. You’ll do jist as I tell ’ee. I’ve al’ays held up my head, and Susan, she’ve al’ays been a bit high, an’ have a-kep’ herself to herself, and there be folks as ’ud be only too glad to go a-crowin’ over we, an’ a-backbitin’ of we. I bain’t a-goin’ for to give ’em no cause. You keep your mouth shut—that’s all as you’ve got to do. Keep your mouth shut, and if folks d’ come a-worrettin’ of ’ee wi’ questions, don’t ’ee let on for to understand. You be hard enough o’ hearin’ at all times, and you can jist make out to be a bit harder. You’ll have to do as I do bid ’ee, for I’ve telled Mrs. Cross jist now the story about Susan’s husband bein’ killed in the war, and his name an’ all—”

“Why, do ’ee know his name?” interrupted Frizzell, staring at her in a puzzled sort of way. “What be his name? The young raskil! If he bain’t killed out abroad, I’ll half murder en when he do come back.”

Martha’s face assumed a set expression.

“He don’t deserve for to come back,” she said, in a tone too low for her husband to hear. “There, it bain’t Christian to wish ill to nobody, but the A’mighty be just, and I can’t think as He’d let a blessin’ rest on that there wicked fellow. I don’t know his name no more nor you,” she shouted, turning to John, who was still muttering vengeance. “Julia didn’t tell I; but when Mrs. Cross axed straight out what his name mid be, I had to say summat. I weren’t a-goin’ for to tell her as I didn’t know, so I jist thought of a name as I seed in the paper o’ Sunday among the list o’ killed—Private Griggs—so I telled her ’twas that.”