'It inna my fault. I'm allus hurting things. I canna set foot in the garden nor cook a cabbage but I kill a lot of little pretty flies and things. And when we take honey there's allus bees hurted. I'm bound to go agen you or Ed'ard, and I canna go agen Ed'ard; he sets store by me, does Ed'ard. You should 'a seen the primmyroses he put in my room last night; I slep' at the parsonage along of us being late.'
Reddin frowned as if in physical pain.
'And he bought me stockings, all thin, and a sky-blue petticoat.'
Reddin looked round. He would have picked her up then and there and taken her to Undern, but the road was full of people.
'I couldna go agen Ed'ard! He'm that kind. Foxy likes him, too; she'd ne'er growl at 'im.'
'Perhaps,' Reddin said hoarsely, 'Foxy'd like me if I gave her bones.'
'She wouldna! You'm got blood on you.'
She drew away coldly at this remembrance, which had been obliterated by
Reddin's grief.
'You'm got the blood of a many little foxes on you,' she said, and her voice cut him like sharp sleet—'little foxes as met have died quick and easy wi' a gunshot. And you've watched 'em minced alive.'
'I'll give it up if you'll chuck the parson.'