"No they won't," I cried.
"Tell 'ee ther's no chance fur 'ee, Jasper. Ther'v bin oal soarts ov taales 'bout you. She's awful vexed now that she saaved 'ee from 'angin'."
By this time I had somewhat mastered my excitement, and I knew that the best way to learn all Betsey knew was to be silent.
"'Tes like this," said Betsey. "Tryphena, Penninton's cook, 'ev got the sack for laivin' you git into the kitchin."
"And what's become of her?"
"She's livin' in Fammuth. Where she do git 'er money I dunnaw. I aan't a took the trouble to vind out. As fur the purty maid she've 'ad a offul life. And she've promised to marry young Maaster Nick. Es fur you, Jasper, my deear, why Israel Barnicoat, who do live ovver to Kynance, do zay that 'ee zeed you in Plemmouth weth a maid thet you wos a-goin' to marry. Others 'ave zeed 'ee, too. Anyhow, the purty maid es a-goin' to marry Nick."
I tried to understand what this meant. And in spite of everything my heart grew light. Why should Israel Barnicoat concoct a story about my being married in Plymouth, and tell it at Pennington? Why should the story be used as a reason why Naomi should marry Nick?
"It shall never be," I cried, gladly.
"We sh'll zee," grunted Betsey, "we sh'll zee this very minnit. Ould Betsey 'll tell 'ee yer fortin, Jasper Penninton, and Eli sh'll git the broth. Ther, Eli, my deear, taake out the brandis."
Now a brandis, as all Cornish folk know, is a three-legged stand made of iron. It is generally placed on the ground over a fire, and supports crocks, frying-pans, boilers, or anything that may be used.