"He's a pest, I hate and detest him," said Martha giving the poodle a vicious shake, "but the job has to be done. Give me a cloth to rub him dry, and hand me that basket to put him in."
"Why do you put 'um in the basket?" asked the wondering Polly.
"Till he gets dry by the fire, or else he would crawl among the ashes and make himself as dirty as ever."
"Well, I hope our Pincher won't find him out. He'd toomble ow'r the basket, an' chaw him up in a minit."
"I should like to see him do it," said Martha, more in earnest than joke. "He would get what would keep him quiet, I think. Who's that plain dark girl, Polly," she said, looking up from the dog, "that your old mistress calls Dorothy?"
"A plain dark gal. Miss Dolly plain. All the gentlemen calls her a booty. A's a great sight handsomer than yer mistrus, wi' her low forehead that ha' scarce room for her eyebrows. Sich small cunning looking eyes, an' a nose as long as the pump handel, an' thin sich a big bony cross looking mouth. I 'spose yer think she be handsomer than our dear Miss Dorothy."
"Well, I did not say that; two blacks don't make a white," and Martha laughed heartily. "I never said she was a beauty, and I only wish she heard you describe her. She has a very low mean forehead, not like mine that the gentleman who visited our Institution said was magnificent."
"Doth that mean bold an' imperdent?" said Polly.
"Do you think I look bold and impudent?" Martha was on her feet in a moment, her eyes flashing, and her fists half clenched.
"I thought that wor what yer meant by magnificent, I do'ant understan yer fine Lunnon words," and Polly looked at her companion's angry face, with the utmost innocence.