“Next Monday it starts.”
“Very well. Good-by. I’ll see you on Monday.”
He blew her a kiss, and she laughed. As the smart turnout rattled through the village she looked after him.
“Betsy always did say he was such a man,” she murmured. “I’ll smack his feäce, though, if he comes near me a-Monday.”
And Fred, leaning sulkily over the yard gate, spat viciously on Pickering’s sixpence.
“Coomin’ here for t’ feäst, is he?” he growled. “Happen he’d better bide i’ Nottonby.”