fit, as you might say," put in
Uncle Issy.

"An' a warmin'-pan, an' likewise a lookin'-glass of a high pattern."

"An' what do he say?" inquired Calvin Oke, drawing a short pipe from his
lips.

"In round numbers, he says nothing, but takes on."

"A wisht state!"

"Ay, 'tis wisht. Will 'ee be so good as to frisk up the beverage,
Prudy, my dear?"

Prudy took up a second large mug that stood warming on the hearthstone,
and began to pour the eggy-hot from one vessel to the other until a
creamy froth covered the top.

"'T'other chap's a handsome chap," she said, with her eyes on her work.

"Handsome is as handsome does," squeaked Uncle Issy.

"If you wasn' such an aged man, Uncle, I' call 'ee a very tame talker."

Uncle Issy collapsed.

"I reckon you'm all afeard o' this man," continued Prudy, looking round
on the company, "else I'd have heard some mention of a shal-lal
afore this."

The men with one accord drew their pipes out and looked at her.

"I mean it. If Porthlooe was the place it used to be, there'd be tin
kettles in plenty to drum en out o' this naybourhood to the Rogue's
March next time he showed his face here. When's he comin' back?"

No one knew.

"The girl's as bad; but 'twould be punishment enough for her to know her
lover was hooted out o' the parish. Mind you, _I_'ve no grudge agen the
man. I liked his dare-devil look, the only time I saw en. I'm only
sayin' what I think--that you'm all afeard."

"I don't b'long to the parish," remarked a Landaviddy man, in the pause
that followed, "but 'tis incumbent on Lanihale, I'm fain to admit."

The Lanihale men fired up at this.

"I've a tin-kettle," said Calvin Oke, "an' I'm ready."

"An' I for another," said Elias Sweetland. "An' I, An' I," echoed
several voices.

"Stiddy there, stiddy, my hearts of oak," began Old Zeb, reflectively.
"A still tongue makes a wise head, and 'twill be time enough to talk o'
shal-lals when the weddin'-day's fixed. Now I've a better notion.
It will not be gain-said by any of 'ee that I've the power of logic in a
high degree--hey?"

"Trew, O king!"

"Surely, surely."

"The rarity that you be, crowder! Sorely we shall miss 'ee when you'm
gone."

"Very well, then," Old Zeb announced. "I'm goin' to be logical wi' that
chap. The very next time I see en, I'm goin' to step up to en an' say,
as betwixt man an' man, 'Look 'ee here,' I'll say, 'I've a lawful son.
You've a-took his name, an' you've a-step