This in a tone of injured surprise.
“Yes, you stupid man. Do you think I don’t know? I can smell you.”
“Drinking!” said Jacky, putting his hand to his head, as if to collect his thoughts.
“Yes, so I did; I had a gill of ale last night.”
“Now, Jacky, I won’t have it,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire. “If you try to deceive me I won’t keep you on.”
“What, and turn away a faithful servant as made this garden what it is, mum, and nursed Master Dick when he was a bit of a bairn no bigger than—”
Jacky stooped down to try and show how many inches high Dick Glaire was when his nursing days were on; and as the gardener placed his hand horizontally, it seemed that about six inches must have been the stature of the child. But this was a dangerous experiment, and Jacky nearly overbalanced himself. A sharp question from his mistress, however, brought him upright, and somewhat sobered him.
“Have you heard any more about that, Jacky?”
“’Bout Master Richard, mum?”
“Yes, Jacky. But mind this, I hate talebearing and the gossip of the place.”