“And 'tis a fine day's work, miss, for five men,” said David, looking over the field; “and 'tis good work too, you mind the swarth else,” and he picked up a handful of the fallen grass to show her how near the ground it was cut.
“Oh, yes, I have no doubt they are very good mowers, but they are not good men, I'm sure. There, do you see now who it is that is bringing them beer? I hope you will see Widow Winburn's son, and speak to him, and try to keep him out of bad company. We should be all so sorry if he were to get into trouble.”
David promised to do his best, and Miss Winter wished him good evening, and rejoined her cousin.
“Well, Katie, will he do your behest?”
“Yes, indeed; and I think he is the best person to do it. Widow Winburn thinks her son minds him more than any one.”
“Do you know, I don't think it will ever go right. I'm sure she doesn't care the least for him.”
“Oh, you have only just seen her once for two or three minutes.”
“And then that wretched old Simon is so perverse about it,” said the cousin. “You will never manage him.”
“He is very provoking, certainly; but I get my own way generally, in spite of him. And it is such a perfect plan, isn't it!”
“Oh, charming! if you can only bring it about.”