‘No, mum—not at all, mum. I—wish to say as I haven’t got no fault to find at all, mum. I’ll come in better time to-morrow morn, an’ ye’ll not have to speak to me agen, mum.’
‘Very good!’ said Rosalie in a different tone. At this unexpected speech a lump came in her throat, but she choked it down.
‘Have the others got anything to say?’ she inquired. ‘Because, if so, I hope they will make haste and say it. My dinner will be getting cold.’
The men who had not hitherto spoken looked at each other uncertainly, their glances finally resting on the beaming countenance of Sam Belbin. After all, had he not chosen the better part?
‘I do agree with he,’ said one under his breath, and then another. By-and-by all remarked aloud, somewhat falteringly, that they just thought they would mention their wish to give more satisfaction in the future.
Job and his followers scowled at these renegades, but their mistress rewarded them with a gracious smile.
‘Very well said,’ she remarked. ‘That’s the proper spirit. Do your duty by me, and you will find me ready to do mine by you.’
The day was hers, as she felt when she returned in triumph to her dinner.
Isaac Sharpe happened to be strolling through the village that evening, when he was accosted by Mrs. Belbin, who was standing, as was her custom at this hour, arms a-kimbo, on her doorstep.
‘There be a great upset up at Fiander’s, bain’t there, sir?’