“Then wot are you afeard of? Get down out of thicky hedge. They won’t ’urt ’ee.”
Peggy felt indignant; the little man was quite unnecessarily rude.
“I do not care to watch milk churning itself in the open,” she retorted; “and I prefer beef cooked.”
Robert appeared for the moment at a loss for a suitable response. He looked at her sourly, and from her to the dog.
“You shouldn’ take that there toy terrier across the fields, if you’m afeard o’ cattle,” he remarked. “’E’s more mischeevous than wot they be. Get down out o’ thicky ’edge, I tell ’ee. I’ll see ’ee across.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the beginning?” Peggy said, flashing a smile at him and slipping nimbly down from her position of doubtful security. “That’s exactly what I was wishing you would do.”
“I seen a woman orched once,” Robert was beginning conversationally, as they walked along together, when Peggy interrupted him to inquire what “orched” meant.
“Why, bein’ tossed, o’ course,” Robert answered, amazed at her ignorance. “She died, too—died o’ fright, I reckon; ’er warn’t ’urt much. It was a cow done it. But ’twas more by way o’ play than temper. Females is easy scared.”
“Yes,” Peggy agreed. “I allow that would scare me. You must be very brave, Mr Robert. I knew you were brave the moment I saw you.”
“Eh?” Robert ventured, a little doubtful as to her entire sincerity. He knew something about females and he had never known them other than deceitful. “Reckon I’m not more easy scared than most.”