“What I want, then, is that you should wheel that barrow-ful of mould as far as the melon-bed. I 'd have done it myself if you had not been here.”
With a seriousness which cost him no small effort to maintain, Conyers addressed himself at once to the task; and she walked along at his side, with a rake over her shoulder, talking with the same cool unconcern she would have bestowed on Darby.
“I have often told Miss Barrington,” said she, “that our rock melons were finer than hers, because we used a peculiar composite earth, into which ash bark and soot entered,—what you are wheeling now, in fact, however hurtful it may be to your feelings. There! upset it exactly on that spot; and now let me see if you are equally handy with a spade.”
“I should like to know what my wages are to be after all this,” said he, as he spread the mould over the bed.
“We give boys about eightpence a day.”
“Boys! what do you mean by boys?”
“Everything that is not married is boy in Ireland; so don't be angry, or I 'll send you off. Pick up those stones, and throw these dock-weeds to one side.”
“You 'll send me a melon, at least, of my own raising, won't you?”