"Ah no," I agreed. "I'm not so clever at it as Joyce is."
"You can be clever enough when you choose," said the old woman, sagely. "I dare say you could be clever enough teaching this Mr. Harrod his way about the farm if you were wanted to."
I looked up quickly. I think I blushed. Why did Deb say that? But why should I blush because she had said it?
"Indeed, I shouldn't think of trying to teach Mr. Harrod anything," said I, trying to laugh.
"What! Has he turned out sharp enough to please you after all?" asked she, with that peculiar snort which it was her fashion to give when she wanted to be disagreeable. "I thought you were of a mind that nobody could be clever enough over this precious farm, unless you was to show them how."
"Fiddlesticks!" said I.
It was very annoying of Deborah to want to put me in a bad temper when I had come in in such a good one.
"Have you seen your father?" asked she, presently.
"No," replied I. "Does he want me?"
"He was asking for you. Wanted you to go up and show this young chap the field where he wants the turnips put."