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"Yes, I know you right enough, but I don't know your company. I'm not taking up strangers." "Lord love ye! This aint a stranger!" exclaimed Peke. "This 'ere's old David, a friend o' mine as is out o' work through gittin' more years on 'is back than the British Gov'ment allows, an' 'e's trampin' it to see 'is relations afore 'e gits put to bed wi' a shovel.
That'll be good for the small trader, an' the big brewin' companies can take to somethin' 'onester than the pizonin' bizness." "You are a would-be wise man, and you talk too much, Matthew Peke!" observed the Reverend Mr. Arbroath, smiling darkly, and still glancing askew at his watch. "I know you of old!" "Ye knows me an' I knows you," responded Peke placidly.
Slowly he plodded along, with a thousand disjointed fragments of thought and memory teasing his brain, all part and parcel of his recent experiences, he seemed to have lived through a whole history of strange events since the herb-gatherer, Matt Peke, had befriended him on the road, and the most curious impression of all was that he had somehow lost his own identity for ever.
Uncertain what to expect, he determined to show no sign of consciousness, and half closing his eyes, he breathed heavily and regularly, feigning to be in a sound slumber. But a cold chill ran through his veins as Tom o' the Gleam slowly and cautiously approached the bed, holding something in his right hand, while Matt Peke and Bill Bush tiptoed gently after him half-way into the room.
"Didn't I tell ye!" ejaculated Peke, triumphantly looking round at Helmsley. "She's one that's got 'er 'art in the right place! I say, Miss Tranter, beggin' yer parding, my friend aint a sponger, ye know! 'E can pay ye a shillin' or two for yer trouble!" Miss Tranter nodded her head carelessly. "The food's threepence and the bed fourpence," she said.
"When the water moans like that," said Peke softly, under his breath, "it seems to me as if all the tongues of drowned sailors 'ad got into it an' was beggin' of us not to forget 'em lyin' cold among the shells an' weed. An' not only the tongues o' them seems a-speakin' an' a-cryin', but all the stray bones o' them seems to rattle in the rattle o' the foam.
"That's an old cart-road down there wheer it stands," continued Peke. "As bad a road as ivir was made, but it runs straight into Devonshire, an' it's a good place for a pub.
"You're a steady-going man, Feathery," he said, "and I'm a wastrel. But I'm ne'er as fickle as you think. I've but one love in the world that's left me my kiddie." "Ay, an' 'ow's the kiddie?" asked Matt Peke "Thrivin' as iver?" "Fine! As strong a little chap as you'll see between Quantocks and Land's End. He'll be four come Martinmas."
Matt Peke explained that old "Feathery" was a highly respected character in the "Quantocks," and not only rented a large farm, but thoroughly understood the farming business. Moreover, that he had succeeded in making himself somewhat of a terror to certain timorous time-servers, on account of his heterodox and obstinate principles.
"She will, an' that sartinly!" said Peke. "She'll not refuse bed an' board to any friend o' mine." "Friend!" Helmsley echoed the word wonderingly. "Ay, friend! Any one's a friend what trusts to ye on the road, aint 'e? Leastways that's 'ow I take it." "As I said before, you are very kind to me," murmured Helmsley; "and I have already asked you Why?"
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