“They’ll get nicely trapped, one of these days,” said I.
“They’re natural—they can fend for themselves like wild beasts do,” he replied, grinning.
“You are not doing your duty, it strikes me,” put in Leslie sententiously.
The man laughed.
“Duties of parents!—tell me, I’ve need of it. I’ve nine—that is eight, and one not far off. She breeds well, the ow’d lass—one every two years—nine in fourteen years—done well, hasn’t she?”
“You’ve done pretty badly, I think.”
“I—why? It’s natural! When a man’s more than nature he’s a devil. Be a good animal, says I, whether it’s man or woman. You, Sir, a good natural male animal; the lady there—a female un—that’s proper as long as yer enjoy it.”
“And what then?”
“Do as th’ animals do. I watch my brats—I let ’em grow. They’re beauties, they are—sound as a young ash pole, every one. They shan’t learn to dirty themselves wi’ smirking deviltry—not if I can help it. They can be like birds, or weasels, or vipers, or squirrels, so long as they ain’t human rot, that’s what I say.”
“It’s one way of looking at things,” said Leslie.