"Doa'nt b'lieve a word on't. The girl's a good modest girl. She never do trouble herself aboot men folk."
"Phew!" hissed forth the little wife.
"People are mighty good till they be found out. She's a sly one—she be. I doa'nt swallow that story o' her'n. Depend upon it, man, it be a big lie fro' beginning to end. She doa'nt fool me wi' the like o' that. Farmer Rushmere wu'd not turn her out for naught."
"Dang it! Letty, I know summut o' women folk. I'd as soon suspect mother o' the like as Dorothy Chance. A nicer, quieter girl never comed into a house."
"O coorse, Joe, she be all perfection in yar eyes," and Mrs. Joe began to whimper. "These still 'uns be allers the worst. Wait awhile an' you'll find out who's right. I hate the wench, wi' her cunning black eyes lookin a body through. She be a deep un—she be."
Here the matrimonial colloquy ended, and Dorothy hurried on to the dairy. She put down her pails, shut the door, and began to ponder over what she had heard.
What could Mrs. Joe mean? What had she done? Of what did she accuse her? She felt inclined to go back and demand an explanation. Then, the old adage rushed into her mind. "Listeners seldom hear any good of themselves," and she was no match in a battle of words with such a woman as Mrs. Joe; so she determined to take no notice of what she had heard, but to seek another situation as soon as she could.
Dorothy felt very wretched, and set about churning that evening with a heavy heart. Her faith in the goodness of human nature was very much shaken; she had conscientiously done her duty to her employers, and this was her reward.
Saturday was the market-day at Hadstone. Dorothy dressed the butter—it was a prime article—and packed a panier of fresh eggs, before she went to bed that night, thinking that her services would be required to sell them in the morning. She wanted much to go to town, in the hope of hearing some news about the Rushmeres, and to obtain, if possible, another service, for she felt it was impossible to remain much longer where she was.
Unfortunately for her, this was Letty's holiday. The only day in the week, except Sunday, that she could learn the news of the parish. Dorothy felt cruelly disappointed, but she said nothing, and helped Letty, as carefully as usual, to pack the baskets into the light cart.