"And how," inquired the smith, bending in turn above the bucket in which we performed our ablutions, "and how might you know that, Peter?"
"Because she told me so."
"Told you so, did she?" said George, and immediately plunged his head into the bucket.
"She did," I answered.
"And supposin'," said George, coming up very red in the face, and with the water streaming from his sodden curls, "supposin' she is goin' to the Fair, what's that to me? I don't care wheer she comes, no, nor wheer she goes, neither!" and he shook the water from him as a dog might.
"Are you quite sure, George?"
"Ah! sartin sure. I've been sure of it now ever since she called me—"
"Pooh, nonsense, man! she didn't mean it—women—especially young ones—often say things they do not mean—at least, so I am given to understand."
"Ay, but she did mean it," said George, frowning and nodding his head; "but it ain't that, Peter, no, it aren't that, it's the knowin' as she spoke truth when she called me 'coward,' and despisin' me for it in 'er heart, that's wheer it is, Peter."
"Nevertheless, I'm sure she never meant it, George."