“She must dale wid the devil,” said the other, “and I hope she'll be burned for a witch yet; but whisht, here she comes, and may the devil roast her on his toastin' iron the first time he wants a male!”
“Troth, an' he'd find her tough feedin',” said his comrade; “and. barrin' he has strong tusks, as I suppose he has, he'd find it no every-day male wid him.”
As they spoke, the object of their animadversion appeared, and turned upon them, so naturally, a sinister and sharp look, that it seemed to the men as if she had suspected the subject of their conversation.
“You are Mr. Goodwin's laborers, are you not?”
“We are, ma'am,” replied one of them, without, as usual, touching his hat however.
“You ill-mannered boor,” she said, “why do you not touch your hat to a lady, when she condescends to speak to you?”
“I always touch my hat to a lady, ma'am,” replied the man sharply.
“Come here, you other man,” said she; “perhaps you are not such an insolent ruffian as this? Can you tell me if Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin are at home?”
“Are you goin' there?” asked the man, making a low bow.
“Yes, I am, my good man,” she replied.