“Then I’ll tell you what I came to say.”
“Wasn’t it for money, then?”
“Money? No. A girl with a face like mine don’t want money, and I shall have plenty when I’m up at the Hall.”
“Toe be sure, Dally. Toe be sure. Ay, but you are a clever gel!”
“Then, look here, gran’fa, you’ll help me to make doctor give Tom Candlish a big thrashing.”
“Ay, if I can. I should like it. He threatened me wi’ his whip t’other day ’cause I said the sheep mustn’t come in th’ churchyard. Parson May found fault, and Squire ca’d me an old mummy, and said he’d put in pigs if he liked. I’d like to see doctor mummying him, same as he does his brother—eh; help you, lass?”
“Yes; but it wasn’t the doctor, it was master made a mummy of Squire Tom. You’re mixing ’em up.”
“Ay, I s’pose I am, Dally; but I’m not very old yet.”
“Then you’ll help me, gran’fa?”
“Will it help you to get to be my lady at the Hall?” said the old man dubiously. “Of course, gran’fa, or I wouldn’t do it,” said the girl, who had wrenched herself round, kneeling at the old man’s feet, and resting her elbows on his knees, her little dimpled chin upon her hands.