“An’—”
“The other?” Jonathan interrupted, anxiously. “You wasn’t ’lowin’ t’ have the woman give up that, was you? ’Tis such a little thing.”
The trader was out of temper.
“Not that!” Jonathan pleaded.
“Just that!” Totley exclaimed. “I’ll not give it to her. If you’re t’ have parsons, why, pay for un. Don’t come askin’ me t’ do it for you.”
“But she—she—she’s only a woman! An’ she sort o’ feels bad. Not that ’twould make any difference t’ me—not t’ me. Oh, I tells her that. But she ’lows she wants it, anyhow. She sort o’ hankers for it. An’ if you could manage—”
“Not I!” Totley was very much out of temper. “Pay for your own parson,” he growled.
“Ah, well,” Jonathan sighed, “she ’lowed, if you made a p’int of it, that she’d take the grub an’ do without—the other. Ay, do without—the other.”
So Jonathan went home with what the parson needed to eat, and he was happy.