'Ha, that's right. What I have, ma'am, is good. I can't pretend to horses, but my donkey's the best. Are you going to cry about him?'
'No. When he's tired I shall either walk or harness you,' said Mrs. Mel.
This was spoken half-way down the High Street of Fallow field. Old Tom looked full in her face, and bawled out:
'Deuce take it. Are you a woman?'
'I have borne three girls and one boy,' said Mrs. Mel.
'What sort of a husband?'
'He is dead.'
'Ha! that's an opening, but 'tain't an answer. I'm off to Beckley on a marriage business. I 'm the son of a cobbler, so I go in a donkey-cart. No damned pretences for me. I'm going to marry off a young tailor to a gal he's been playing the lord to. If she cares for him she'll take him: if not, they're all the luckier, both of 'em.'
'What's the tailor's name?' said Mrs. Mel.
'You are a woman,' returned Old Tom. 'Now, come, ma'am, don't you feel ashamed of being in a donkeycart?'