“Can’t you see when two gentlemen are talking?” said Uncle Luke, snappishly. “Go away.”
“Ay, that I will, Master Luke, only let’s have the fish first.”
“I told you I haven’t been fishing.”
“Nay, not a word, Master Luke. Now, did he, Master Leslie? No fish, and I’ve tramped all the way up here for nothing.”
“Shouldn’t have come, then.”
“It’s very hard on a poor woman,” sighed Poll, sinking on a stone, and resting her hands on her knees, her basket creaking loudly. “All this way up and no fish.”
“No; be off.”
“Iss, Master Luke, I’ll go; but you’ve always been a kind friend to me, and I’m going to ask you a favour, sir. I’m a lone woman, and at times I feel gashly ill, and I thought if you’d got a drop of wine or sperrits—”
“To encourage you in drinking.”
“Now listen to him, what hard things he can say, Master Leslie, when I’m asking for a little in a bottle to keep in the cupboard for medicine.”