Not another word could she extract from him till dinner-time, when she summoned him to table.
He gazed at the food sourly. “All charity!” he murmured. “Charity, woman. I be eatin’ what I haven’t earned. I may jist so well go to the Union.”
A few days later the Squire’s dogcart drew up at the little gate, and the Squire himself descended therefrom, carrying a couple of rabbits which he extracted from under the seat.
“Good-day, John; good-day, Mrs. Guppy. Well, John, how are you? Cheering up a bit, I hope.”
John shook his head slowly.
“I’ve brought you a couple of rabbits,” continued the Squire. “It never struck me till the other day how you must miss them. I’ll send you some every week. There are enough, Heaven knows.”
“I don’t want no rabbits,” growled Guppy; “I bain’t a-goin’ to eat of ’em.”
“John!” gasped his wife, hardly believing her ears.
“Put ’em back i’ the cart, woman,” he continued; “I bain’t a-goin’ to eat no rabbits what they chaps up yonder have a-ketched.”
“Why, John,” said the Squire, sitting down beside him, “can’t you get over it? I thought you would be all right by this time.”