“Does Mr. Grimshaw say so?”
“He bain’t sure yet.”
“I be sure,” growled Timothy. “I know by my bees that Mary be dying, yes, I do. She loved her bees, she did. They’ll up and leave the hives when she goes.”
“You be daffy,” said Martha cheerfully. “Mary bain’t dead yet. I mind me when my lil’ Willie lay cold an’ stiff in his bed, and old Doctor Pawley he says to me: ‘Martha Giles,’ he says, ‘Willie be gone.’ An’ the lil’ dear opens both his eyes and says: ‘No, I bain’t.’ And I speaks quite sharp to the lad: ‘Now, Willie,’ I says, ‘don’t ’ee conterdict Doctor, because he knows best.’ And Lard bless ’ee! Miss Cicely, Willum be cartin’ manure this instant minute. I’ve some nice cow-heel broth for Mary, if so be as her pore stummick can stand it.”
“I have some nourishing soup,” said Cicely.
Timothy never thanked her. In the same apathetic tone as before he informed Cicely that his niece Agatha was coming to nurse her aunt, and when Cicely expressed her approval of this, adding a few pleasant words about Agatha, Mrs. Giles burst out again:
“Full o’ beans she be, and quite the lady.”
“Ladies be damned!” grunted Farleigh.
“Timothy Farleigh! . . . And before Miss Cicely too! You’ll excuse his ignerunce, miss, I know.”
“I’ve nothing agen she,” continued the old man, indicating Cicely with a gesture. “When I says ‘Ladies be damned!’ I speaks of fine ladies, who toil not neither do they spin, and Solomon in all his glory bain’t arrayed like unto ’un.”