Alfred, having enjoyed "advantages," did not use the dialect of Wiltshire, seldom heard now except from the elderly villagers. As became a carrier accustomed to pick his way through country lanes, he seldom argued with his mother, partly because he knew that her tongue was sharper than his, partly, also, because he travelled, mentally, along lines of less resistance. On this occasion, he said curtly:
"I like Fancy."
"The name or the maid?" asked his mother quickly.
"Both. The name seems to match the maid."
"Why, Alferd, whatever do 'ee know about her?"
"I brought her from Salisbury. A rare talker; she sat beside me, she did, and talked free and pleasant, as—as a throstle sings."
His mother eyed him sharply. Alfred, as a rule, disdained flowers of speech. She proceeded more warily:
"If so be as you know all about her, let's hear what's to tell. I'll say this, she behaves herself in church."
This commendation loosened Alfred's tongue, as was intended. Very leisurely, between immense mouthfuls of bread and cheese, he told an artless tale. Fancy, it appeared, was the youngest daughter of a small farrier in Salisbury, and the first of three daughters to take service. Her father enjoyed poor health. At this Mrs. Yellam sniffed. She held strong opinions, like the Squire, upon eugenics. If put to it, she might have admitted that ill-health was apportioned by Providence to the less deserving. Dissenters, in her experience, suffered more from mysterious ailments than Church-people. Draughty, jerry-built Chapels were handicraft of Satan. Alfred continued. Fancy had chosen a country place, because she was none too robust.
"Peaky and spindlin'," remarked Mrs. Yellam. "Is her mother alive?"