“An’ you must be comin’ on about sixty, Mr. Joyce?”
“Ah, I fancy that’s about my age.”
Tabitha cast a look of triumph towards Rebecca, who feigned unconsciousness.
“I can mind the time o’ the Crimee War,” she announced deliberately.
There was a chorus of derisive comment.
“The Crimean War! Why, that’s scarce any time ago,” said Mr. Joyce. “’Twas in the fifties, I think; ’ees, I can remember the time very well myself. That don’t go for to prove nothin’, Rebecca.”
“Well, there’s one comfort,” returned she, undaunted, “us’ll be judged by folks as don’t know us one from t’other, and they’ll be like to judge us fair. There be things for and against both on us. Bithey’s hard o’ hearin’ and wonderful stiff in her j’ints, and all that’ll be in her favour; but if they do go for to judge us wold women same way as they do judge harses, I reckon I’ve a-got the best chance.”
“How’s that?” cried Charl’.
“Why, if they go for to examine our teeth, to be sure; they’d see as I hadn’t got none.”
And further demonstrating the fact by a wide smile, Rebecca walked away, followed by a burst of mirthful applause.