“No, no! I wasn’t a patch on Daniel. Still, I know the outdoor work and love it, too!”
Minnie thought of her button.
“You’d want a wife then. A gamekeeper’s life is a hard one. I suppose if you do that, you’ll take the north cottage and Thomas will get warning?”
“Yes—I should have his place; he’s not much good. But as to a wife—well, if you ask me, I think a keeper’s better without one. Men will talk to their wives; an’ women will talk again to other women. They can’t help it. A man whose business ’tis to keep secrets and run the chance of sudden death had better bide single. So it depends—as I told you just now—’pon other parties. Come next Midsummer, I shall ask a certain party a certain question; and if the answer is ‘Yes,’ there’ll be no gamekeeping for me; and if the answer is ‘No’—well, I’d rather not think of that. There come times in his life when a strong man can’t take ‘No’ for an answer.”
Minnie sat on her pony with one hand in her pocket. She fingered the horn button and spoke.
“You want somebody to look after you. A girl’s eyes be sharp where she takes an interest. I wonder your master have never called you to account for that black button on your gaiter. ’Tis very untidy. If you was an outdoor man, you’d never dare to go about like that.”
“Quite right,” he admitted. “To think your sharp eyes have seen—but what don’t they see—even to a button? It do make me feel proud all the same, that you can have bestowed the least thought on such a thing.”
“I catched sight of it some time ago. If you remind me one day, I’ll sew a yellow one on for ’e. I’ve got one. ’Twill match t’others an’ look more vitty than that black one.”
“I’m afeard it won’t match the others, my dear, for they’m notched around the edge and be peculiar. But your button will be more to me than all the rest, and if ’tis yellow in colour, ’twill pass very well; and thank you kindly for the thought.”
“Next time you come up then?”