“Sweet piety! You will allow me to escort you home!”
“I cannot prevent you from doing so, sir, but I am sorry you should have put yourself to the trouble of coming to meet me. It was unnecessary,” said Miss Stornaway, whipping up her horse.
John shut the gate, and went back into the toll-house. A strong aroma of onions assailed him, from which he inferred that Ben considered it was time to start cooking dinner. He went into the kitchen, and said abruptly: “Ben, did you tell me that there is a woman who comes here to clean the place?”
“Ay, Mrs. Skeffling. She comes Wednesdays. She washes the duds too,” replied Ben. “We has a roast, Wednesdays, and a pudden, and all. Coo, she’s a prime cook, she is!”
“We must have her every day,” John said decidedly.
“Every day?” gasped Ben, nearly upsetting the pan he was holding over the fire. “Whatever for, gov’nor?”
“To keep the house clean, and cook the dinner, of course. Where does she live?”
“Down the road. But she has to have a sow’s baby every time!”
“In that case, I shall have to go to market and buy a litter of pigs,” said John. He perceived that Ben was looking quite amazed, and laughed. “Never mind! How much is a sow’s baby?”
“A half-horde—sixpence! Properly turned-up we’d be!”