“And not above anybody or anything going. I see the pale one this day, and pale he is and weak they say, enough to be walked about on the girl's shoulder—I see him to-day as I passed the Inn, he was on a long chair out in the bit of paved yard, you know Miss Dexter, and when he saw me he raises his head and says 'Farmer Wise, is that you?'” May be you don't remember just how he speaks. He speaks better now nor when he came, and his brother too. At first It was all in a jumble like one word run into the other and hard to understand at least for us country folks. But now 'tis a bit clearer, more as you speak, begging your pardon, Miss Dexter, for noticing that or anything else that concerns you, Miss Dexter. And I says, stopping these fellows a bit. “Yes it's me. I'm on my way to town with nine barrels of apples.”
“How many?” he calls out again.
“Nine,” I replies.
“Let's taste one,” he says.
“A barrel?” I says, and Milly, the girl, she come oat by the door, with another quilt to put over him, laughing, and showing her teeth, rare ones too, they be and says she. “Throw us down one, Farmer Wise,” and I did, for I had a couple in my pocket, and here's the tother, “now Miss Dexter, if you see your way to eatin' it now in the waggon alongside of me, or will you wait till we get to the Albion?” Charlotte Dexter put her hand out mechanically and took the apple, a large red one, from the farmer who again managed to hurt her as his great wrist touched her fingers for an instant. He blushed perceptibly and moved a little nearer still. And how unconscious Charlotte Dexter was of his mere presence, let alone tender thoughts, except when he hurt her!
“I have heard this morning, that is I believe everyone has known for some time, though it is only spoken about generally today, for the first time, that Mrs. Cox is giving up the Inn. Her niece, the girl you mention, is going to be married—indeed, it is one of those gentlemen—the Mr. Foxleys—whom she is to marry, and they will take the Inn out of Mrs. Cox's hands.”
The farmer was as surprised as she had been.
“Well,” he ejaculated “didn't I say I'd never seen their ekil? Milly's going to marry one of the Mr. Foxleys? Which—”
“It is Mr. Joseph,” returned Miss Dexter, staring down at the apple in her lap. “The youngest one, you know. He is a very merry young gentleman and always has something to say. I daresay it will be a very comfortable arrangement.”
“But it's a great thing for Milly,” said her companion, “it'll be a great thing for her. She'll live in the tone, no doubt and may be cross the ocean to see his home and his parents—it'll be a great thing for Milly. A gentleman born! Ay, ay; ay, ay!”