“What mun I drink then?” cried Luke sullenly. “Dry water!”
“Yo’ can have coffee same as the rest on us,” returned Jinny. “It’s b’ilin’ on the fire now, an’ ’ull be ready as soon as yo’ are, I doubt. Ate yo’r bacon an’ don’t let’s hear so mich talk.”
“Is talk forbidden too?” enquired Luke, with a dawning smile.
“Not when it’s gradely talk,” responded his hostess. “If yo’n anything to say, say it, but I’ll not be moidered wi’ grumblin’s an’ growlin’s.”
John plunged at once into an account of a chance meeting with an old crony of his, who was also, it seemed a friend of Miss Whiteside’s, describing with a good deal of dry humour his encounter with this gentleman, who was, it appeared, more nor a little set up since he had shifted to Liverpool. Jinny seemed much tickled, and interrupted the speaker every now and then by a burst of laughter—very fresh and pleasant laughter, her blue eyes twinkling the while in a way that was equally pleasant. She was in such a good humour that at the conclusion of the repast Luke was emboldened to produce his pipe, and, after tentatively polishing it on his coat sleeve, held it out to her.
“Can I smoke,” he asked ingratiatingly, “or is that again the rules too?”
“Well,” said Miss Whiteside, surveying him reflectively, “if yo’ was ony kin o’ mine I’d ha’ summat to say to yo’, but if yo’ choose to weer yo’r brass on baccy it’s nobry’s business but yo’r own. It keeps yo’ quiet, an’ so long as yo’ stick to coffee for yo’r drink, theer’s no harm in’t as far as I can see. Say grace afore yo’ leave the table though.”
This time Luke, if he did not openly join in the devotions, had the good taste to sit quiet, and to keep his features composed and his eyes downcast till the “Amen,” after which he lit his pipe and fell to smoking in silence. John, who was no smoker, adjourned to the bench in the porch, and, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, began to read. Meanwhile Jinny “sided” the things, singing to herself in a high, clear voice. Presently, catching up a bucket, she went out; the creaking of a windlass was heard, and in another minute she returned, the pail brimming over with water.
“Yo’n a well here, I see,” observed Luke, removing his pipe. “I couldn’t make out what the screeching was. Yo’ are rale owd-fashioned folks hereabouts.”
“Noan the war for thot,” said Jinny. “Yo’ Manchester folks is so stuck-up yo’ reckon to find pumps an’ taps an’ sich like i’ th’ country. But yo’ll ha’ to put up wi’ us same as yo’ find us. When yo’r for cl’anin’ yo’, yo’ll ha’ to fill bucket for yo’rsel’, same as John yonder.”