Can you cook potatoes ?" she asked, suddenly turning to Caleb.

Beneath her sun-bonnet her pretty cheek was flushed, and her chin thrust forward with just a shadow of defiance.
"Iss, to be sure," grinned Caleb.

"Why, us does our own washin'." Tamsin's eyes travelled without bashfulness over the array upon the beach.
"Pretty washing, I expect!" She walked up and took some of the clothes into her hand.

"Look here--not half-wrung--and some fallen in the mud and dirtied worse than ever." With fine contempt she moved among the clothes, wrung them, spread them out again, and even returned with some to the wash-tub.
Like four whipped schoolboys the males looked on as she tucked up the sleeves of her neat print gown.
"Soap, too, left to float in the wash-tub, and--salt water I declare! Caleb, empty this and get some soft water from the old butt by the back door.

Oh, you poor, helpless baby!" Mr.Fogo, though the words were not spoken to him, winced and turned to stare abstractedly at the river.
"Sir," said Caleb from his hammock that night, "cudn' 'ee put in a coddysel ?" "A codicil ?" "Iss, just to say, 'No wimmen allowed but Tamsin Dearlove--us don't mind she.' Wudn' that do, sir ?" "I'm afraid not, Caleb.