“Oh,” said he, “now I see what you would have. Well, out with it, Will, for your granary is, after all, but a draughty place.”
“Ben,” I said, “what would you say if I told you Iwas going to fight a duel?”
“Why, I should say more fool you,” answered Ben.
“That is just what I thought. Well, I am going to fight a duel.”
“Then I cannot say anything less, Will. A duel! Well, I had a better opinion of you than that.”
“Do you think I want to fight, man? Not I, indeed; but there are times when a man is forced to fight.”
“I do not believe it,” said he. “For, look you, Will, if a man wanted to fight me, I should tell him that I valued my life too dearly to expose it in that mad fashion. For life and liberty I would fight hard enow, but I would not put myself within twelve yards of another man’s pistol for him to shoot at in cold blood. That I call rank folly.”
“Well, so it may be, Ben, but you would not have me a coward?”
“I know thee, Will, for as brave a lad as ever stepped, but thou wouldst not wax braver in my estimation by fighting a hundred duels.”
“This one, however, I must fight, Ben. There is no question about it.”
“And with what other fool art thou going to fight, Will?”
“With Dennis Watson.”
Ben nodded his head significantly.
“Oh,” said he, “so that old sore is reopened, is it? The sleeping dogs will not lie, eh, Will?”
“They might have slept forever if it had rested with me, lad. And yet perhaps not. So far as I can see it is impossible for us Dales and Watsons to be at aught but enmity. Do you remember, Ben, that occasion when Dennis and I fought behind the high wall in the schoolyard?”
“Yea, very well.”
“After I had fairly beaten him he came up to me and told me that he hated me, and always should hate me, and would cause me such trouble as would make me wish that I had never been born. So that you see, Ben, hatred like that is not like to die out.”
“Lads,” replied Ben, “will say aught. You should have fallen upon him and given him another thrashing for his naughty speech. But this present disagreement—how came it about?”
“In this wise. It would seem that Dennis Watson gave Lucy and Mistress Rose a lift from the market on Saturday evening, and I was very grieved on account of that, and did chide Lucy very sharply therefor, as indeed I had a right to, for she is not thy wife yet, Master Benjamin.”
“Go on, lad, go on. You were always masterful over your womenkind.”
“Well, then, up springs Mistress Rose and flouts me most unmercifully, so that I had never a word to say. Yea, and looked at me, Ben, like a queen, so that I was quite ashamed of myself, saying that I was unkind to Lucy, and I know not what.”
“I am glad she hath such a spirit,” said Ben.
“Then this morning we went our ways to church, and there was this Watson in fine clothes like a jay, and when we came out he must be bowing and smiling to the two maidens, until I cut it short by telling him that I supposed my sister had already thanked him for his service, and therefore there was no need to say more. And at that he asks if I am for enmity or friendship, or something to that effect, to which I replied that there could never be aught but enmity between us. So then he said that we had best settle our difference, and if I would meet him in Went Wood tomorrow at sunrise, we would settle it. And now, Ben, you know all about it.”
“And a poor tale it is,” said Ben. “Why should you reply that there must always be enmity between you?”
“Because his father murdered mine.”
“You think so, Will, but you do not know it. But even if Rupert did slay your father, what had Dennis to do with that?”
“He is a Watson.”
“Pooh! Am I to be blamed for all the vagaries that Englishmen are now carrying on because I am of the nation too? You are wrong, Will. ’Tis better to be at peace than at enmity. Again, why did you chide Lucy? Did Dennis do anything but a neighbourly act in giving the maidens a lift? Why, ’twas snowing heavy that night!”
“Lucy had no business to accept a favour from him,” I said.
“Why, man, that is, to my mind, pure folly,” said Ben. “However, we will not argue the point. Only, I should not like to be hated by thee, Will, for thou art a good hater. Well, can we go back to the fire now?”
“Not till I have told you what I want, Ben. You must sleep here tonight and go with me in the morning. You can do that at least for me, whether you think me right or wrong.”
“Very well,” he said; and we went towards the house again, but had not crossed the fold when I caught sight of a lad standing at the gate with a paper in his hand. He came over when he saw us and gave me the paper, saying that Master Dennis Watson had sent it.
“Let us see what he has to say,” I said, turning away with Ben and breaking the seal. “Listen, Ben.
“ ‘If William Dale is in the same mind that he was in this morning, let him bring a friend with him to meet Dennis Watson and his friend at the old sheepfold in Went Vale tomorrow morning at eight of the clock.’
“You see, Ben,” I said, “he is not minded to let things rest. So now we must fight. Tell your
