“I will,” said Bethia seriously.
In a few days the news of her installation as assistant overseer spread through the place, one of the first to hear of it being Jacob Fowler.
Bethia was standing in the kitchen shelling peas one morning when his knock came at the door, almost immediately followed by the appearance of his large person from behind it.
“Be this here true what I’ve a-heard?” he inquired abruptly. “Be it true as you be a-goin’ to carry on this rate-collecting same as your father did do?”
“Yes, Mr. Fowler,” answered Bethia, not without a certain pride. “The Parish Council gentlemen think I can do it just as well as anybody; and I’m glad to say they’ve agreed to let me try.”
“I don’t agree, then,” cried Jacob violently. “It bain’t at all fit nor becomin’ for a young ’ooman same as you to be a-goin’ about from house to house, visitin’ folks and axin’ them for their money. It bain’t proper, I tell ’ee.”
“What nonsense!” exclaimed Bethia, with a toss of her pretty curly locks. “What’s it to you, Mr. Fowler, anyhow?”
“I don’t like it,” growled Fowler. “Will you go and ax folks for it, same as you did ax I?”
“I shall leave a little note first,” said Bethia, with a very business-like air, “a demand-note, you know. If they don’t pay up I shall call personally.”
“It bain’t the right thing for a faymale,” repeated Fowler sourly; “least of all for a young faymale. Folks ’ull be givin’ ye impidence.”