I gave her a little ungallant peck with my foot.
“Now!” I cried, “what’s this? What are you doing?”
Her face was hidden on her arm and she spoke up mumblingly.
“Oh!” she said; “Lord—Lord! It bain’t worthy o’ you!”
“What’s the matter, I say?”
“Take the clean and well-preserved! There’s better fish than a poor feckless old ’ooman all fly blown like a carkis wi’ ungodliness!”
I gave her another little stir.
“I repent!” she shrieked. “I’ll confess everything! Only spare me now. Gie me a month—two months, to prepare my sore wicked soul for the felon’s grave.”
“Peggy,” I said, sternly, “get up and don’t make a fool of yourself.”
She seemed to listen.