“I bain’t afeard o’ nothing, excep’, maybe, our old broody hen.”
He retired to his ingle-nook, as Nicodemus stumped back, his face redder than usual, his large mouth agape with consternation.
“Well, Nicodemus? . . .”
“Timothy won’t come, my lady.”
“Won’t?” she repeated sharply. “Surely he sent some message?”
Nicodemus gasped out:
“I be too flustrated to gi’ his message.”
“Rubbish, my good man! Give me his message at once.”
“Not me, my lady. I dassent repeat to your ladyship his sinful words.”
“You will please obey me, Nicodemus, and kindly deliver the message exactly, exactly as it was given to you.”