“Well, to be sure,” cried Jim, much impressed.
“Ees,” resumed Jess, after a moment’s pause, during which he had searched his memory for an appropriate text, which he now produced in a somewhat jumbled condition. “I have found out my sin an’ I be a-goin’ for to forsake it. I be a-goin’ for to turn teetotal out an’ out.”
* * *
No one was more rejoiced to hear of this doughty resolution than Mrs Domeny; though from certain heated altercations which sometimes took place on Saturday nights between the couple, it might be inferred that in spite of his pledge the good fellow was still troubled by certain rebellious hankerings. It was even whispered that now and then—on market-days for instance—Jess’s gait was wont to become unsteady and his speech a trifle thick, almost as of yore; but Farmer Old never appeared to notice these lapses from the path of rectitude, and Jess lost no measure of the respect with which he had inspired his fellow-labourers since he had first proposed to set them an example.
“JARGE’S LITTLE ’OOMAN”
It was eight o’clock on a summer’s morning, and Farmer Ellery’s haymakers had duly assembled in his yard preparatory to setting forth for the field.
The long spell of fine weather appeared likely to break up at last, and if the hay in the forty-acre was to be carried that day, every hand was needed.
The farmer, mounted on his stout black horse, kept a sharp look-out as the folk came up, and those who were disposed to lag and to gossip quickened their pace as they took note of his expression. Several things had happened to put the master out of temper. One of the horses had suddenly gone lame, a wheel had come off the biggest waggon, and what was most provoking of all, though every pair of hands was wanted, as has been said, every pair of hands was not forthcoming.
Old John Robbins was down with his rheumatism again—and where was George Crumpler?
“Where’s George Crumpler?” Farmer Ellery enquired aloud, taking a rapid and frowning survey of the groups who had surrounded horses and waggons.