She'll do something for some of us yit.'" "Hush," whispered Reuben, as at that moment the door opened and a tall, ungainly young dalesman, with red hair and with a dogged expression of face, entered the inn.
A little later, amid a whirl of piercing wind, Ralph Ray entered, shaking the frozen snow from his cloak with long skirts, wet and cold, his staff in his hand, and his dog at his heels.

Old Matthew gave him a cheery welcome.
"It's like ye'd as lief be in this snug room as on the fell to-neet, Ralph ?" There was a twinkle in the old man's eye; he had meant more than he said.
"I'd full as soon be here as in Sim's cave, Matthew, if that's what you mean," said Ralph, as he held the palms of his hands to the fire and then rubbed them on his knees.
"Thou wert nivver much of a fool, Ralph," Matthew answered.

And with a shovel that facetious occupant of the hearth lifted another cob of turf on to the fire.
"It's lang sin' Sim sat aboon sic a lowe as that," he added, with a motion of his head downwards.
"Worse luck," said Ralph in a low tone, as though trying to avoid the subject.
"Whear the pot's brocken, there let the sherds lie, lad," said the old man; "keep thy breath to cool thy poddish, forby thy mug of yal, and here't comes." As he spoke the hostess brought up a pot of ale, smoking hot, and put it in Ralph's hand.
"Let every man stand his awn rackups, Ralph.

Sim's a bad lot, and reet serv'd." "You have him there, Mattha Branthet," said the others with a laugh, "a feckless fool." The young dalesman leaned back on the bench, took a draught of his liquor, rested the pot on his knee, and looked into the fire with the steady gaze of one just out of the darkness.

After a pause he said quietly,-- "I'll wager there's never a man among you dare go up to Sim's cave to-night.