'Did ye tell my girl anythin'?' he demanded.
'Of course I did.'
'What was't then?'
'Well,' said she, wiping her greasy hands on the bosom of her dress, 'I watched on the road for her this morning, an' I told her.'
'What?'
'I told her she needn't try to put on airs, she was only a stoker's daughter, an' he'll not have that place any more.'
'Did ye knaw she didn't knaw't?'
'Yes. What do you care, old dusty? She's got a good place.'
'Yes, she has, Lord's good for't.'
'Shall we fight it out, Adam? Hold on till I wipe my hands.'