'Tain't that: 'tis the maid." "How's mother ?" asked the young man, to shift the conversation.
"Hugly, my son.

Hi! Rachel!" he shouted, turning his head towards the cottage; and then went on, dropping his voice, "As between naybours, I'm fain to say she don't shine this mornin'.

Hi, mother! here's Zebedee waitin' to pay his respects." Mrs.Minards appeared on the cottage threshold, with a blue check duster round her head--a tall, angular woman, of severe deportment.
Her husband's bulletin, it is fair to say, had reference rather to her temper than to her personal attractions.
"Be the Frenchmen landed ?" she inquired, sharply.
"Why, no; nor yet likely to." "Then why be I called out i' the midst o' my clanin'?
What came I out for to see?
Was it to pass the time o' day wi' an aged shaken-by-the-wind kind o' loiterer they name Uncle Issy ?" Apparently it was not, for Uncle Issy by this time was twenty yards up the road, and still fleeing, with his head bent and shoulders extravagantly arched, as if under a smart shower.
"I thought I'd like to see you, mother," said Young Zeb.
"Well, now you've done it." "Best be goin', I reckon, my son," whispered Old Zeb.
"I be much the same to look at," announced the voice above, "as afore your legacy came.

'Tis only up to Sheba that faces ha' grown kindlier." Young Zeb touched up his mare a trifle savagely.
"Well, so long, my son! See 'ee up to Sheba this evenin', if all's well." The old man turned back to his work, while Young Zeb rattled on in an ill humour.

He had the prettiest sweetheart and the richest in Lanihale parish, and nobody said a good word for her.