"No," said Ralph, and sat down beside him. Robbie had gone back to his
bench.
"Ye'll want the bull-grips to keep _him_ quiet," said old Matthew to
Ralph, with a sneer.
"And the ass's barnicles to keep your tongue in your mouth," added
Ralph sternly.
"For fault of wise men fools sit on the bench, or we should hev none
of this," continued Matthew. "I reckon some one that's here is nigh
ax't oot by Auld Nick in the kirk of the nether world."
"Then take care you're not there yourself to give something at the
bridewain."
Old Mathew grumbled something under his breath.
There was a long silence. Ralph had rarely been heard to speak so
bitterly. It was clear that opposition had gone far enough. Sim's
watery eyes were never for an instant still. Full of a sickening
apprehension, they cast furtive glances into every face. The poor
creature seemed determined to gather up into his wretched breast the
scorn that was blasting it. The turf on the hearth gave out a great
heat, but the tailor shivered as with cold. Then Ralph reached the
coat and cap, and, after satisfying himself that they were dry, he
handed them back to Sim, who put them on.
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