“Not you, cook. Burglars don’t know,” said John, “and higgerance is stronger than iron bars.”
“But shan’t you tell Miss Gertrude?” said the housemaid.
“What! that master likes to do as he pleases; and upset her, poor little lass? Not likely.”
“No,” said cook, who seemed to have repented of her own proposition; “a still tongue maketh a wise head.”
This shot proverbial was fired at the gardener, cook looking at him fixedly, as if to let him know that he did not possess all the wisdom at The Mynns.
“Well, here’s luck,” said John Season, before tossing off the remaining half glass of ale; and thrusting his arm under the handle of the basket, he went off, repeating his orders to himself, as given by cook for the late dinner: “Onions, taters, beans, peas, parsley, lettuce, and a beet.”