Coom whoam; coom tha whoam, and if ivver Ah catch tha again a-slitherin’ about yon house, Ah’ll turn ye oot o’ ma house, and oot o’ ma farm, as if ye wur nobbut a ploughboy, thet Ah will!”

Mat wriggled and writhed till he got loose from his father’s grasp, and slinking back a step or two, he called out, not loudly or defiantly, but with the same rough kindliness which he had shown from the first towards the friendly girls—

“Now mind, Sally, thou maun mash t’ best coop o’ tea thoo can for t’ leddies.”

John Oldshaw turned round at these words, and addressed the old woman in a thick and angry voice.

“Sarah Wall, get back to tha whoam an’ tha own business. An’ if thoo canna keep tha owd fingers oot o’ other fowks’ affairs, tha needna coom oop oor way o’ Soondays for t’ broaken meat. So now thoo knaws.”

And, with a jerk of the head to his son to intimate that Mat could go on in front and he would follow, the farmer stamped slowly and heavily away down the yard.

His coarse unkindness affected the three women differently. Little Lucy began to whimper and to sob out indignant maledictions upon “the ol-ol-old brute;” Mrs. Wall, after dropping half a dozen frightened curtseys, manifested a great eagerness to go; Olivia drew herself up and became very stern and grave.

“You need not mind what that man says, Mrs. Wall,” she said, in a firm quiet voice. “You may be very sure that any kindness you do us will be amply repaid. And as for the broken meat he talks about, if you will really lose that by letting us rest a little while in your cottage and giving us a cup of tea, I can promise you a good dinner every Sunday while my father lives here.”

But Mrs. Wall was too far timorous and cautious a person to risk the substantial reality of broken meat on Sundays from the great man of the village for the flimsy vision of a good dinner from a total stranger. She thrust her flickering tallow candle into Lucy’s hands, and began to tie her wispy bonnet strings with a resolute air.

[Pg 18]

[Pg 18]

“I’ll leave t’ candle,” she said, as if making a great and generous concession; “an’ that’s a’ I can do for ye. For I’ve nowt in my place I could set afore a leddy; an’ as for tea, the bit fire I left will be out by this time.”

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