'Eh, Bryda, will that suit you?'
'Thank you, Jack. Yes, I will have the letter ready. But will your mother be angry?'
'Lor'! why should she? But if she is, it's no odds to me. I say, Bryda, give me—'
But before Jack could finish his sentence Bryda was gone.
She found things at the farm going on much as usual.
The butter was made, the noonday dinner cleared away, Dorothy 'cleaned up' for the afternoon, and seated at the table cutting up some bits of old printed calico for a patchwork quilt.
When she caught sight of Bryda at the open door she called out,—
'Where have you been to? Dinner is done an hour ago. P'r'aps you have had yours at Mistress Henderson's?' This with a sniff of contempt. 'You are mighty partial to these Hendersons, I know I can't abide them.'
Instead of taking any notice of these remarks, Bryda asked,—
'Where's grandfather?'