One morning the farmer said in a tone of banter, “Come Patty, dear, what have you been about? The tea isn’t made, and the cloth isn’t laid, and I’m half famished. Has Mr. Fortescue got into your head, or what?”
“Mr. Fortescue!” exclaimed Patty, colouring. “What could induce you to make such an observation as that? Mr. Fortescue, indeed!—’taint likely.”
The farmer laughed.
“There, don’t ’ee lose yer temper—I didn’t mean to offend ’ee,” said he.
“Oh, you don’t offend me, Richard, but I should say that he’s more in your head than in mine.”
“That’s true enough, old gell, quite true. But hark’ee, Kitty don’t think much on him—does she?”
“I believe not.”
“Ah, so I thought. Lord bless us, what a funny world it is, to be sure. She says that she’s quite sure from his face that he’s no good, and that he must ha’ given us a false name, because the initials on his linen aint E. F., or anything like it.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, that’s what the gell sez, and she aint often mistaken. When Kitty meks up her mind to do a thing I’ll back she’ll stick to it, but I don’t think it at all likely that he would give us a false name.”