But Martha’s family noticed that she came in from the expedition in a very bad humour. Bob was a thick-headed young man, and he had not much to say for himself; and he had brought his pipe with him and puffed the smoke in Martha’s face and laughed at her for minding it; and, moreover, he had wanted to kiss her on parting, which she had thought very presumptuous on so short an acquaintance—Sam had walked with her for at least three Sundays before he had made any such attempt—altogether she was ruffled.
“I reckon ye did like Sam best,” remarked her sister, as Martha tossed her hat on to the bed.
The other started and answered angrily: “I may have liked him to begin wi’, but I fair hate him now.”
“Well, Bob Ellery bain’t so bad,” returned the sister soothingly. “His nose do seem to turn up a good bit, and he’ve got an awful big head, but I’ve seen many as was worse looking.”
“There’s other chaps besides Sam and Bob,” retorted Martha.
“Who?” enquired the other eagerly, thinking her sister had made a new conquest.
“Oh, I don’t know—there’s lots of ’em about. Do ye mind Granny’s silly old tale about goin’ to the church-porch on Midsummer Eve?”
“Of course I do. Are ye thinkin’ o’ tryin’ it?”
Martha nodded.
“I’d like to find out summat for certain,” she said.