Swelling with indignation, the waggoner spoke his mind with a fluency and a range of vocabulary which commanded the Captain’s admiration. He then produced the sum of one shilling and tenpence, defiantly mounted the shaft again, and went on his way, feeling that his defeat had been honourable.
The Captain, shutting the gate, found that he was being critically regarded by a buxom woman who was standing outside the toll-house, with a basket on her arm. Her rather plump form was neatly attired in a dress of sober gray, made high to the throat, and unadorned by any ribbons or flounces. Over it she wore a cloak; and under a plain chip hat her pretty brown hair was confined in a starched muslin cap, tied beneath her chin in a stiff bow. She was by no means young, but she was decidedly comely, with well-opened gray eyes, an impertinent nose, and a firm mouth that betokened a good deal of character. Having listened without embarrassment to John’s interchange with the waggoner, she said sharply, as he caught sight of her: “Well, young man! Very pretty language to be using in front of females, I must say!”
“I didn’t know you were there,” apologized John.
“That’s no excuse. The idea of bandying words with a low, vulgar creature like that! What have you done to your shirt?”
John glanced guiltily down at a jagged tear in one sleeve. “I caught it on a nail,” he said.
She clicked her tongue, saying severely: “You’ve no business to be wearing a good shirt like that. You’d better let me have it, when you take it off, and I’ll mend it for you.”
“Thank’ee!” said John.
“That’s quite enough of that!” she told him, an irrepressible dimple showing itself for an instant. “Don’t you try and hoax me you’re not a gentleman-born, because you can’t do it!”
“I won’t,” he promised. “And don’t you try to hoax me you’re not Miss Stornaway’s nurse, because I wouldn’t believe you! You put me much in mind of my own nurse.”
“I’ll be bound you were a rare handful for the poor soul,” she retorted. “If you are going to town this morning, see you buy a couple of stout shirts! A sin and a shame it is to be wearing a fine one like this, and you very likely chopping wood, and I don’t know what beside! What your mother would say, if she was to see you, sir—!”