'Of course not.'
'My old vaither doth all these to me. He whacks me wi' brimmles and vuzz, and he throws turves and stones at me, and I has to rock mun every night or he wouldn't sleep a wink. Of all the proper blaggards in the world there ain't an ekal to vaither. But I reckon vaithers is vaithers all the world over. They be all like oaksticks, some crookeder nor others, but none straight. You don't mind over much what has happened to yours?'
The young lady only imperfectly understood the girl, owing to the rudeness of her speech and her strong provincial brogue.
'There be my old vaither rolled out of his barril right across the high road, and I don't know if he've a broke his neck or no; and I don't kear hover much, no more nor you does because your vaither ha' gone and done the same.'
'What do you mean, girl?'
'I mean what I sez. I know what broke necks mean. I ha' broke the necks o' rabbits scores and scores o' times. Him's just the same, ivery bit and croome.'
The young lady shuddered. She did not cry, but her breath caught in her throat.
'Mon Dieu! Ce n'est pas vrai! Comme cette fille me fait peur!'
'What be that jabber about? You oughtn't to mind.'
'For the love of God, girl, do not frighten me. It is wicked—it is cruel. It is not true.'