“My, were the old Flynts unusually trying?” she asked sympathetically.
“They want you to clean the gammer’s bonnet,” he answered brusquely.
“That’s not so foolish.” Her needle was moving busily again. “Have you brought it?”
“No.”
“That does seem foolish.”
“I’m not a bonnet-bearer! They want you to fetch it.”
“Me! Five miles to clean a bonnet! When I’m so busy! And in all that mud!”
“It ain’t so muddy this side o’ Swash End, and it’s not two miles each way by the fields.”
“Yes, with horrid cows!”
Bundock felt protective. “Cows ain’t bulls.”