A voice from within answered sleepily, “Right—right as a trivet, old lady,” and yawned.
Mrs. Garth put her head close to the door-jamb.
“Ye'd best be putten the better leg afore, gentlemen,” she said with becoming amiability; “yer breakfast is nigh about ready, gentlemen.”
“The better leg, David, eh? Ha! ha! ha!” came from another muffled voice within.
Mrs. Garth turned about, oblivious of her own conceit. In a voice and manner that had undergone a complete and sudden change, she whispered to Joe,—
“Thou'rt a great bledderen fool.”
The blacksmith had been wrapped in his thoughts. His reply was startlingly irrelevant.
“Fool or none, I'll not do it,” said Joe emphatically.
“Do what?” asked his mother in a tone of genuine inquiry.
“What I told you.”