In spite of a fresh and most dismal explosion, her mendacity rose equal to the occasion; and her final statement, that she knew for a fact that pigs weren’t half fattened yet, produced the intended effect, and the dear visitor was convinced.
TIRING WORK
Later in the day when all was stilled once more, and the lovely April afternoon as full of country peace as it should be, the two went out and down the lane; the guest in a donkey-chair and her daughter by her side. To the latter’s discomfiture on their return they met the portly form of Mrs. Boyt, emerging from the walled garden with an empty egg-basket. Mrs. Polly was very anxious to skirmish the donkey-chair past with an ingratiating and nervous giggle; but neither the donkey nor the lady in the chair would fall in with her strategy. The lady in the chair had a liking for Mrs. Boyt, and was amused at the thought of a little chat with her; and the donkey, like all self-respecting donkeys, was bound in honour to stop dead when it was most wanted to advance. Perhaps, too, Mrs. Polly’s artfulness had aroused lingering suspicions, for the lady in the chair was very firm:
“Good evening, Mrs. Boyt. ‹No, Polly, it’s not cold at all. No, I’m not going in yet.› How is Mr. Boyt?”
“Mr. Boyt he be fairly, thanking you kindly, ’m. Of course he be a bit tired this evening.”
Mrs. Polly, with a wild eye, intervened.
“I’m afraid it’s tea-time, darling. H’m—H’m—A beautiful evening—Mrs. Boyt, my Mother was admiring the little calves—Come on, Bathsheba!”
In vain she clucked, in vain she pulled the reins; Bathsheba merely twitched an ear. The clear voice from the bath-chair put all efforts to turn the conversation on one side with a decision which swept her into silence.
“Tired? Did you say your husband was tired, Mrs. Boyt?”