Wilson had gone by this time, and turning to his sons, Angus
continued,--

"Did you see how the waistrel snirpt up his nose when the pedler said
Cromwell was dead?"

It was obvious that something more was soon to be made known relative
to their farm servant. The pedler had no difficulty in coming to the
conclusion that Wilson was some secret spy, some disguised enemy of
the Commonwealth, and perhaps some Fifth Monarchy man, and a rank
Papist to boot. Mrs. Ray's serene face was unruffled; she was sure the
poor man meant no harm. Ralph was silent, as usual, but he looked
troubled, and getting up from the table soon afterwards he followed
the man whom he had brought under his father's roof, and who seemed
likely to cause dissension there.

Not long after this eventful morning, Ralph overheard his father and
Wilson in hot dispute at the other side of a hedge. He could learn
nothing of a definite nature. Angus was at the full pitch of
indignation. Wilson, he said, had threatened him; or, at least, his
own flesh and blood. He had told the man never to come near
Shoulthwaite Moss again.

"An' he does," said the dalesman, his eyes aflame, "I'll toitle him
into the beck till he's as wankle as a wet sack."

He was not so old but that he could have kept his word. His great
frame seemed closer knit at sixty than it had been at thirty. His
face, with its long, square, gray beard, looked severer than ever
under his cloth hood. Wilson returned no more, and the promise of a