“Greenways is over at Lenham, and Peter’s out on the farm somewheres, but I expect they’ll be in soon.”
The cobbler waited for some mention of Lilac, but as none came he proceeded to make polite enquiries about other matters, such as the crops and the live stock, and the chances of good weather for the hay. He would not ask for her yet, he thought, because it might look as though he had no other reason for coming.
“And how did you do with your ducks this season, Mrs Greenways, ma’am?” he said.
“Why, badly,” replied Mrs Greenways in a mortified tone; “I never knew such onlucky broods. A cow got into the orchard and trampled down one. Fifteen as likely ducklings as you’d wish to see. And the rats scared off a hen just as she’d hatched out; and we lost a whole lot more with the cramp.”
“H’m, h’m, h’m,” said the cobbler sympathisingly, “that was bad, that was. And you ought to do well with your poultry in a fine place like this too.”
“Well, we don’t,” said Mrs Greenways, rather shortly; “and that’s all about it.”
“They want a lot of care, poultry does,” said Joshua reflectively; “a lot of care. I know a little what belongs to the work of a farm. Years afore I came to these parts I used to live on one.”
“Then p’r’aps you know what a heart-breaking, back-breaking, wearing-out life it is,” burst out poor Mrs Greenways. “All plague an’ no profit, that’s what it is. It’s drive, drive, drive, morning, noon, and night, and all to be done over again the next day. You’re never through with it.”
“Ah! I dessay,” said Joshua soothingly; “but there’s your daughters now. They take summat off your hands, I s’pose? And that reminds me. There’s little White Lilac, as we used to call her,—you find her a handy sort of lass, don’t you?”
“She’s well enough in her way,” said Mrs Greenways. “I don’t never regret giving her a home, and I know my duty to Greenways’ niece; but as for use—she’s a child, Mr Snell, and a weakly little thing too, as looks hardly fit to hold a broom.”