The silver penny changed hands at once. Avice had meanwhile been hanging up her hood and cloak, and she now proceeded to prepare a dish of eggs, foreseeing company to supper. Supper was exceedingly early to-day, as it was scarcely three o’clock; but dinner had been equally so, for nobody wanted to be busy when the Queen came. A large dish of “eggs and butter” was speedily on the table—the “buttered eggs” of the north of England, which are, I believe, identical with the “scrambled eggs” of the United States. The party sat down to supper, Father Thomas being served with a trencher to himself.
“And how dost thou get along wi’ thy Missis, my lass?” said Dan to his daughter.
“Oh, things is very pleasant as yet, Father,” answered Emma with a smile. “There’s a mixture, as you said just now. Some’s decent lasses enough; and some’s foolish; and some’s middlin’. There’s most of the middlin’ ones.”
“I’m fain to hear it,” said Dan. “Lasses is so foolish, I should ha’ thought there ’d be most o’ that lot. So ’s lads too. Eh, it’s a queer world, this un: mortal queer! But I asked thee how thou got on with thy Missis, and thou tells me o’ th’ lasses. Never did know a woman answer straight off. Ask most on ’em how far it is to Newark, and they’ll answer you that t’ wind was west as they come fro’ Barling.”
“Thou hast not a good opinion of women, my son,” said Father Thomas, who looked much amused.
“I’ve seen too much on ’em!” responded Dan, conclusively. “I’ve got a wife and six lasses.”
“Bertha, we’d better mind our ways!” said Emma, laughing.
“Nay, it’s none you,” was Dan’s comment. “You’re middlin’ decent, you two. So’s Avice; and so’s old Christopher’s Regina. I know of ne’er another, without it ’s t’ cat—and she scratches like t’ rest when she’s put out. There is other decent ’uns, happen. They haven’t come my way yet.”
“Why, Father!” cried Emma. “Think who you’re lumping together—the Lady Queen, and my Lady at the Castle, and Lady Margaret, and the Dean’s sister, and—”
“Thou’ll be out o’ breath, if thou reckons all thou’st heard tell of,” said Dan. “There’s cats o’ different sorts, child: some’s snowy white (when so be they’ve none been i’ th’ ash-hole), and some’s tabby, and some’s black as iron; but they all scrats. Women’s like ’em.—You’re wise men, you parsons and such, as have nought to do wi’ ’em. Old Christopher, my neighbour up at smithy, he says weddin’s like a bag full o’ snakes wi’ one eel amongst ’em: you ha’ to put your hand in, and you may get th’ eel. But if you dunna—why you’ve got to do t’ best you can wi’ one o’ t’ other lot. If you’ll keep your hand out of the bag you’ll stand best chance of not getting bit.”