crescendo, which was rendering it doubtful whether the rose would not predominate over the mowers, when old Kester, with an entirely unmoved and immovable aspect, suddenly set up a quavering treble,—as if he had been an alarum, and the time was come for him to go off.
The company at Alick's end of the table took this form of vocal entertainment very much as a matter of course, being free from musical prejudices; but Bartle Massey laid down his pipe and put his fingers in his ears; and Adam, who had been longing to go, ever since he had heard Dinah was not in the house, rose and said he must bid good-night.
"I'll go with you, lad," said Bartle; "I'll go with you before my ears are split."
"I'll go round by the Common, and see you home, if you like, Mr Massey," said Adam.
"Ay, ay!" said Bartle; "then we can have a bit o' talk together. I never get hold of you now."
"Eh! it's a pity but you'd sit it out," said Martin Poyser. "They 'll all go soon; for th' missis niver lets 'em stay past ten."
But Adam was resolute, so the good-nights were said, and the two friends turned out on their starlight walk together.
