He nodded shortly and went into the cottage, cutting short all further attempts at being communicative.
Leslie walked steadily back up the hill to his works, and had not been at his office five minutes before Poll Perrow’s basket was creaking outside.
“I know you won’t be so gashly hard on a poor woman, Master Leslie,” she said. “It arn’t true about me getting brandy, sir. Let me have a drop in the bottom of a bottle, sir. You’ll never miss it, and you don’t know what good you’ll do a poor soul as wants it bad.”
“Look here,” said Leslie, “I’ll give you some on one condition; that you do not come here again to beg.”
“Not if I can help it, sir; but a well-off gentleman like you will never miss a drop. A pint will be plenty, sir, in as small a bottle as you can.”
Leslie could not help laughing at the woman’s impudence, but he said nothing, only went into the house and returned with a pint bottle filled with the potent spirit.
“And bless you for it, Master Leslie!” cried Poll Perrow, with her eyes sparkling. “Now, sir, only one little thing more.”
“No,” said Leslie, sternly. “I have given you what you asked; now go.”
“I only want you to put in a word for me to Master Luke, sir. Don’t let him speak to the coastguard.”
“Don’t be alarmed; the old man is too good-hearted to do anything of the kind. But I should advise you to give up all such practices. There: good-day.”