Читать книгу Pastorals of Dorset онлайн

18 страница из 43

“Ye may take it,” retorted Robbins, thumping the gate again, “for ye’ll not get no other.”

“Well, I be sorry, Abel; I be very sorry—I—I be terrible sorry. You’ve sarved me faithful, Abel.”

“Ay, master, I do ’low I’ve sarved ’ee too faithful,” returned Robbins. He betook himself to his pitchfork again, and all his master’s remonstrances failed to extract another word.

Sorely perturbed in mind Joyce withdrew at last, and made his way homewards. Throwing down his hat on the kitchen table he informed his wife of the result of the interview.

“I could a’most wish as we hadn’t ha’ said nothin’ about it to the old chap. He won’t last long—an’ I might ha’ made shift to help him a bit.”

“That be real nonsense,” returned his better half. “’Twould be a pretty notion for the master to be a-workin’ for the man. Let him go if he’s set on’t—he’ll repent it.”

She set a dish on the table with somewhat unnecessary energy, and her husband held his peace for a moment or two. By-and-bye, however, he put into words that which was in the minds of both.