Hubert dropped his phrase—and his knife and fork—and stared angrily at
Daffady, the old cowman and carter.
Daffady threw his master a furtive look, then munched through a mouthful of bread and cheese without replying.
He was a grey and taciturn person, with a provocative look of patience.
"What tha bin doin wi' th' coo?" said Hubert sharply. "I left her mysel nobbut half an hour sen."
Daffady turned his head again in Hubert's direction for a moment, then deliberately addressed the mistress.
"Aye, aye, missus"—he spoke in a high small voice—"A turned her reet enoof, an a gied her soom fresh straa for her yed. She doin varra middlin."
"If she'd been turned yesterday in a proper fashion, she'd ha' bin on her feet by now," said Mrs. Mason, with a glance at her son.
"Nowt o' t' soart, mother," cried Hubert. He leant forward, flushed with wrath, or beer—his potations had begun to fill Laura with dismay—and spoke with a hectoring violence. "I tell tha when t' farrier cam oop last night, he said she'd been managed first-rate! If yo and Daffady had yor way wi' yor fallals an yor nonsense, yo'd never leave a poor sick creetur alone for five minutes; I towd Daffady to let her be, an I'll let him knaa who's mëaster here!"
He glared at the carter, quite regardless of Laura's presence. Polly coughed loudly, and tried to make a diversion by getting up to clear away the plates. The three combatants took no notice.
Daffady slowly ran his tongue round his lips; then he said, again looking at the mistress: