“That's one for me, and two for yourself, ma'am.”
“Yes, sir,” said the mild soul. “I have got my husband with me, and you are only a bachelor, sir.”
“How d'ye know that?”
“I think you'd ha' been softened down a bit, if you'd ever had a good wife.”
“Oh, it is because I speak loud. That is with bawling to my shepherds half a mile off. Why, if I'm loud, I'm civil. Now, young man, what is YOUR trouble?”
Henry started from his reverie, and looked astonished.
“Out with it,” shouted Mr. Bolt; “don't sit grizzling there. What with this lady's husband, dead and buried in that there newspaper, and you, that sets brooding like a hen over one egg, it's a Quaker's meeting, or nearly. If you've been and murdered anybody, tell us all about it. Once off your mind, you'll be more sociable.”
“A man's thoughts are his own, Mr. Bolt. I'm not so fond of talking about myself as you seem to be.”
“Oh, I can talk, or I can listen. But you won't do neither. Pretty company YOU are, a-hatching of your egg.”
“Well, sir,” said the meek woman to Henry, “the rough gentleman he is right. If you are in trouble, the best way is to let your tongue put it off your heart.”