wark suppin' buttermilk with a pitchfork."

"Will you _never_ be solid with me?" cried Liza, with extreme vexation
pictured on every feature as her scapegrace sweetheart tried to
imprison her hands in order to kiss her. "I tell you--" and then there
was some momentary whispering between them, which seemed to have the
effect of sobering Robbie in an instant. His exuberant vivacity gave
place to a look of the utmost solemnity, not unmixed with a painful
expression as of one who was struggling hard to gather together his
scattered wits.

"They'll only have another to take once they catch _him_," said Robbie
in an altered tone, as he drew his hand hard across his eyes.

There was some further whispering, and then the two went outside.
Returning to the door, Liza hailed her father, who joined them on the
causeway in front of the inn.

Robbie was another man. Of his reckless abandonment of spirit no trace
was left.

Mattha was told of the visit of the constables to Shoulthwaite, and of
Sim's despatch in search of Ralph.

"He'll be off for Carlisle," said Robbie, standing square on his legs,
and tugging with his cap off at the hair at the back of his head.

"Like eneuf," answered Mattha, "and likely that's the safest place for
him. It's best to sit near the fire when the chimney smokes, thoo
knows."