In the accents of indignation—that is to say in an excited iambic of which the accented syllables were fiery short, Bettesworth began—

“Whatever should you think my old gal done last night? I was that hurt—there, I dunno when I bin so hurt as I was when I got down 'ome last night an' see what she'd done!”

I could not imagine what she could have done. She is a short, swarthy, toothless old creature, soft-hearted and patient, and looking as fiercely harmless as a weather-beaten scarecrow. And yet—well, I could not but sympathise with Bettesworth, as he continued—

“There, I must tell ye, sir, for I knows you'll say I had just cause to be put out.

“Before I come away after dinner yesterday, she ast me if she should hoe the pa'snips. ‘No,’ I says, ‘you leave’ em alone. Don't you touch 'em. If you likes,' I says, ‘you can jest peck along in between 'em wi’ your little hoe. But I'll hoe 'em an' cut 'em out, to-night. Then if you comes along behind me an' picks out the doubles,' I says, ‘that'll help me more 'n as if you tried to hoe 'em.' So I come away, never thinkin' as she'd try to do 'em after that; 'cause I says to her, ‘Don't you touch 'em,' I says. Well, when I went down after I'd left off here, she says to me, ‘You can’ ave a rest to-night, Fred.