Mrs. Summersgill weighed sixteen stone, but she was heedless of satire. Her eye fell on Martin, eating silently, but well.
“Some folks git their bread easy, I’m sure,” she went on. “Ivver sen I was a bit lass I’ve tewed and wrowt an’ mead sike deed ower spendin’ hawpenny, whiles uthers hev a silver spoon thrust i’ their gob frae t’ time they’re born!”
“T’ Lord gives, an’ t’ Lord taks away. Ye munnot fly i’ t’ feäce o’ t’ Lord,” said Bolland.
“I’m not built for flyin’ anywhere,” cried the old lady. “I wish I was. ’Tis flighty ’uns as wins nowadays. Look at Betsy Thwaites! Look at Mrs. Saumarez! She mun hae gotten her money varra simple te fling it about as she does. My man telt me that her little gal, t’ other neet——”
“Yer cup’s empty, Mrs. Summersgill,” put in Martha quickly. “Bless my heart, ye talk an’ eat nowt. Speakin’ o’ Mrs. Saumarez, hez anyone heerd if she’s better? One o’ Miss Walker’s maids said she was poorly.”
Martin caught his mother’s eye, and rose. He went upstairs; the farmer followed him. The two sat near the window; on the broad ledge reposed the Bible; but Bolland did not open the book. He laid his hand on it reverently and looked at the boy.
“Martin,” he began, “yer muther tells me that Benson med yer mind sair by grabbin’ te t’ squire aboot yer bringin’ up. Nay, lad, ye needn’t say owt. ’Tis no secret. We on’y kept it frae ye for yer good. Anyhow, ’tis kent noo, an’ there’s nae need te chew on ’t. What troubled me maist was yer muther’s defiance when I was minded te punish ye for bein’ out late.”
“It won’t occur again, sir,” said Martin quietly.
“Mebbe. T’ spirit is willin’, but t’ flesh is wake. Noo, I want a straight answer te a straight question. Are these Bible lessons te yer likin’?”