“What be you doing Miss Claire?” arsks I, going over to her, and looking wid suspisshon at the hole she’s after diggin. “My God Miss” ses I “it looks like a grave.”
“Delia! Why” ses she “I’m sitting out a flouring hidge. I’m follring the rules of the bist orthorities on hortyculcheer. See:” and she poynted to her pockets which were boolging out wid books. “All are agreed” ses she “that a gardin shud be begun wid a flouring hidge. My gardin will be one glow of luvliness from spring till frorst and maybe later. Its possible.”
“But miss” ses I “ye’ll nade a gardiner for the tax”
“Never! Why I’ve been setting up nites studying me subjeck. I expect to devoat——” just thin she guv a little joomp and her cheeks turned pink wid excitemint.
“My goodness Delia!” ses she wispering, “th-theres a man” ses she.
“Whare?” ses I, glaring about me, riddy for war upon anny dirty tramps trispessing upon our place.
“The other side the fince” ses she, wispering. I looked over, but seen no wan.
“Are you quite sure?” asks she, trimbling a bit.
“I am” ses I. She turned pale, and siesed hold of me arm.
“Delia!” ses she whispering “d-d-d-do you remimber that—that—young man who——”