“Bad ain’t nothing to it, my dear. I’ve been fighting hard for her stopping, and sending her resignation back; but neither Lambent nor Squire George Canninge won’t interfere, and I’m left to fight it all out, and they’re beating me.”
“And why didn’t you tell me all this before, Bill?” said Miss Burge.
“Oh, I hadn’t the heart to talk about it, my dear,” replied her brother. “It’s all worry and vexation, that it is, and I wish I’d never done nothing for the schools at all.”
“Don’t say that, Bill, when you’ve done so much good.”
“But I do say it,” he cried angrily. “Here is everybody setting themselves again’ me, and it’s all jealousy because I’ve got on. I never asked no favours of ’em before; it’s all been give, give; and now they show what they’re all made of. It’s all horse-leeches’ daughters with ’em, that’s what it is, and I wish Plumton All Saints was burnt. All Saints indeed!” he cried indignantly; “it’s all devils, and no saints in it at all.”
“But can’t Mr Lambent settle it?”
“No, he couldn’t if he’d moved; and those two cats—there, I can’t call ’em anything else—who are always going about preaching charity and love to the poor people, and giving ’em ‘Dairyman’s Daughters’ instead of beef or tea, have been setting every one again’ the poor gal, and they’re at the bottom of it all I know. They hate her like poison.”
“Well, I don’t know about as bad as poison,” said little Miss Burge thoughtfully; “but they don’t like her, and I don’t think that Mrs Canninge likes her either.”
“No, I’m sure she don’t; but I don’t care,” said Mr William Forth Burge furiously. “I’m not beaten, and if that poor girl will stand by us, I’ll stand by her, to the last shilling I’ve got.”
“That’s right, Bill!” cried little Miss Burge enthusiastically, “for I do like her ever so; and the good, patient way in which she puts up with the fine airs and silly ways of her ma makes me like her more and more. I haven’t got a very bad temper, have I, Bill?”