“No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor received a more hospitable welcome.”
“Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer.”
“May I ask what that is?” said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes were still fixed.
“It’s a tally, plase your honour. Oh, you’re a foreigner;—it’s the way the labourers do keep the account of the day’s work with the overseer, the bailiff; a notch for every day the bailiff makes on his stick, and the labourer the like on his stick, to tally; and when we come to make up the account, it’s by the notches we go. And there’s been a mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the overseer: and she was counting the boy’s tally, that’s in bed, tired, for in truth he’s overworked.”
“Would you want any thing more from me, mother?” said the girl, rising and turning her head away.
“No, child; get away, for your heart’s full.”
She went instantly.
“Is the boy her brother?” said Lord Colambre.
“No; he’s her bachelor,” said the old woman, lowering her voice.
“Her bachelor?”