conservative with regard to things which were likely to make talk in the village. They got too much of it at meal times and in bed. It was talk that drove one of them to drink and the dogs after twenty years of sober married life. He was the hopeless village sot. But they were a steady class, and not easily driven, as a rule—except in the case of two husbands who were last heard of in Tasmania and New Zealand. The survivors were adverse to others being driven abroad, because, although it eased the labour market, it made more talk. They preferred extra hardship to extra talk.
Bob didn't talk at all, but was none the more popular for that; you see he "wasn't a woman"—jest a labourer like themselves, and "no better than none of 'em." Bob had been " parculiar "from the little that they remembered of him at school. He was supposed to " have notions." He was supposed to be a come-by-chance, "found under a gooseberry bush"—his father unknown, and his "mother" or "aunt" doubtful in both cases. He was supposed to be the son of some one. He was supposed to be related to ——. He was supposed to be somebody-of-importance's brother, nephew, or something. But, as far as I could hear, he was never supposed to be a shy, sensitive, self and village-tortured child, of higher inherited intelligence than the rest.
Anyway, he was sent or taken to London by his mother, or whatever she was, and forgotten.
Poor little Billy was bursting with secrets, several big, astounding ones, which comforted and held him
