"The carts were fine!—especially the second one."
"Ay—that's our missis. She and the two girls done the dressin' o' the cart."
"What's her name?"
"Well, her name's Henderson," said the old man, speaking with an amiable, half careless detachment, the manner rather of a philosopher than a gossip.
"She's the farmer's wife?"
"Noa, she ain't. She's the farmer herself—'at's what she is. She's took the farm from Colonel Shepherd—she did—all on her own. To be sure there's Miss Leighton as lives with her. But it do seem to me as Miss Henderson's—as you might say—the top 'un. And me an' James Halsey works for her."
"Miss Henderson? She's not married?"
"Not she!" said old Betts emphatically. "She's like a lot o' women nowadays, I guess. They doan't want to be married."
"Perhaps nobody 'as wanted to marry 'em, dad!" said his elder son, grinning at his own stale jest.
Betts shook a meditative head.