“Sometimes, but Mr Dicky Glaire’s turned him off again, and now he’s doing nowt.”
“Never mind, don’t be downhearted. Times mend when they come to the worst.”
“No, they don’t,” said the woman, sharply. “If they did they’d have mended for me.”
“Well, well,” said the vicar; “we will talk about that another time;” and he took the two pieces of slag from his pocket, and placed them on the mantelpiece of the little study, where they were now standing.
“Some one threw them at yow?” said the woman.
“Yes,” said the vicar, smiling.
“Just like ’em. They don’t like strangers here.”
“So it seems,” said the vicar. “But you did not tell me your name, Mrs—”
“Slee, they call me, Slee,” was the sulky reply.
“Well, Mrs Slee,” said the vicar, “I have had a good long walk, and I’m very hungry. If I give you the money will you get me something to eat, while I go down the town and order in some furniture for this little room and the bed-room above?”