‘You see I do take your advice sometimes,’ said Rosalie, turning to Isaac, and speaking in a plaintive tone, though a little smile played about her mouth.
Isaac’s back was towards her, and he made no reply; as she approached the burly form, however, she saw his shoulders heave, and presently, to her great relief, discovered that he was shaking with silent laughter.
‘Well, my dear, ye don’t do things by halves—I’ll say that for ’ee,’ he chuckled. You’ve a-got rid o’ that there chap, anyhow. He’ll not ax to come coortin’ again. Well, well, if ye manage as well in other ways I’ll not say that ye bain’t fit to look arter yourself.’
‘But it was your advice, you know, Mr. Sharpe,’ she said demurely. ‘You gave me the hint about shutting the door.’
‘I d’ ’low I did,’ said Isaac; and, being a good-natured and placable person, his transitory sense of resentment was soon replaced by thorough appreciation of the humorous side of the situation.
The discomfiture of Samuel Cross gave a salutary lesson not only to himself, but to sundry other adventurous young men who had been a little hasty in their overtures to Mrs. Fiander. It was soon noised abroad that the young widow wished for the present to keep herself to herself, as the saying went, and that it would in consequence be advisable to abstain from making advances to her—at least, until she had laid aside her crape.
For some months, therefore, Rosalie enjoyed comparative immunity from the importunities which had so much annoyed her, while the new arrangements appeared to work amazingly well both within and without Littlecomb Farm.
Job and Abel departed in due course; the pigs were sold—at considerable loss to their owner; Sam was installed as chief cowman, and sustained his honours cheerfully, without, however, appearing to be unduly elated; and three strapping damsels were engaged as dairy-maids. With their co-operation Mrs. Fiander turned out weekly a score and more of large round cheeses, which were stowed away in an upper room until, in course of time, they should become sufficiently ripe—some people might use the term mouldy—to have earned their title of ‘Blue Vinney’ cheese.
This process took a considerable time, and meanwhile the profits of the dairy were a good deal lessened since Rosalie had left off making the Ha’skim cheeses, for which she had been so particularly famed, and for which she had invariably received regular payment. Still, as she told herself, when the Blue Vinneys were disposed of, she would receive her money in a lump sum, and all would be the same in the end.
Her chief trouble at this time arose from the frequent calls of Mr. Wilson, the auctioneer, who, though he could not be said to be regularly paying attention to Rosalie, found, nevertheless, sundry excuses for ‘dropping in’ and conversing with her at all manner of unseasonable times. He made, as has been implied, no direct advances; and Rosalie, moreover, could not treat him so unceremoniously as she had treated Mr. Cross, for she felt in a manner indebted to him about the sale of those unlucky pigs. He had carried the matter through for her with great difficulty to himself, as he frequently assured her, and he had steadily refused all remuneration. It was hard, therefore, for the young widow to repel or avoid him, and she was in consequence reluctantly obliged to endure many hours of his society.