'Kester—I didn't tell thee—there were a letter from Measter Hall, Lord Malton's steward, that came last night and that Philip read me.'
She stopped for a moment.
'Ay, lass! Philip read it thee, and whatten might it say?'
'Only that he had an offer for Haytersbank Farm, and would set mother free to go as soon as t' crops was off t' ground.'
She sighed a little as she said this.
"'Only!" sayst ta? Whatten business has he for to go an' offer to let t' farm afore iver he were told as yo' wished to leave it?' observed Kester, in high dudgeon.
'Oh!' replied Sylvia, throwing down her rake, as if weary of life. 'What could we do wi' t' farm and land? If it were all dairy I might ha' done, but wi' so much on it arable.'
'And if 'tis arable is not I allays to t' fore?'
'Oh, man, dunnot find fault wi' me! I'm just fain to lie down and die, if it were not for mother.'
'Ay! thy mother will be sore unsettled if thou's for quitting Haytersbank,' said merciless Kester.