“Baily Pennyways—Baily Pennyways—I said so; yes, I said so!”
“What, found out stealing anything?”
“Stealing it is. The news is, that after Miss Everdene got home she went out again to see all was safe, as she usually do, and coming in found Baily Pennyways creeping down the granary steps with half a bushel of barley. She fleed at him like a cat—never such a tomboy as she is—of course I speak with closed doors?”
“You do—you do, Henery.”
“She fleed at him, and, to cut a long story short, he owned to having carried off five sack altogether, upon her promising not to persecute him. Well, he’s turned out neck and crop, and my question is, who’s going to be baily now?”
The question was such a profound one that Henery was obliged to drink there and then from the large cup till the bottom was distinctly visible inside. Before he had replaced it on the table, in came the young man, Susan Tall’s husband, in a still greater hurry.
“Have ye heard the news that’s all over parish?”
“About Baily Pennyways?”
“But besides that?”
“No—not a morsel of it!” they replied, looking into the very midst of Laban Tall as if to meet his words half-way down his throat.