“Yes; and Tompkins’s old apple-tree is rooted that used to bear two hogsheads of cider; and no help from other trees.”
“Rooted?—you don’t say it! Ah! stirring times we live in—stirring times.”
“And you can mind the old well that used to be in the middle of the place? That’s turned into a solid iron pump with a large stone trough, and all complete.”
“Dear, dear—how the face of nations alter, and what we live to see nowadays! Yes—and ’tis the same here. They’ve been talking but now of the mis’ess’s strange doings.”
“What have you been saying about her?” inquired Oak, sharply turning to the rest, and getting very warm.
“These middle-aged men have been pulling her over the coals for pride and vanity,” said Mark Clark; “but I say, let her have rope enough. Bless her pretty face—shouldn’t I like to do so—upon her cherry lips!” The gallant Mark Clark here made a peculiar and well known sound with his own.
“Mark,” said Gabriel, sternly, “now you mind this! none of that dalliance-talk—that smack-and-coddle style of yours—about Miss Everdene. I don’t allow it. Do you hear?”
“With all my heart, as I’ve got no chance,” replied Mr. Clark, cordially.
“I suppose you’ve been speaking against her?” said Oak, turning to Joseph Poorgrass with a very grim look.
“No, no—not a word I—’tis a real joyful thing that she’s no worse, that’s what I say,” said Joseph, trembling and blushing with terror. “Matthew just said—”