"Humph! humph! well, ring for Mrs. Gower, and hold your tongue."
"Sorry I can't oblige you, Guardy. But how can I hold my tongue and eat?"
"I wish I could find something to take the edge off it; it's altogether too sharp," growled the old man to himself.
Mrs. Gower, fat and good-natured as ever, entered at this moment; and, as they assembled round the table, the squire—who, though he generally got the worst of the argument, would never let Gipsy rest—again resumed the subject.
"Mind, monkey, you're not to go to Deep Dale again; I forbid you—positively forbid you."
"Lor! Guardy, you don't say so!"
"Don't be disrespectful, minx. If I'm your guardian, you shall obey me. You heard me say so before, didn't you?"
"Why, yes, I think so; but, then, you say so many things, a body can't be expected to remember them all. You must be talking, you know; and you might as well be saying that as anything else."
"But I am determined you shall obey me this time. Do you hear? At your peril, minion, dare to go there again!" thundered the squire.
"That very pretty, Guardy, won't you say it over again," replied the tantalizing elf.