And now the way in which Moxy came out, while Bardie was making much of me (who always saw everything first, of course), and the style of her meddling in between us, led me to know that a man has no chance to be up to the tricks of a female. For the dialogue going on between us was of the very simplest nature, as you may judge by the following:—
“Hy’se ’a been so long, old Davy, afore ’a come to see poor Bardie?”
“Because, my pretty dear, I have been forced to work, all day long almost.”
“Hasn’t ’a had no time to pay?”
“No, my dear, not a moment to play. Work, work, work! Money, money, money! Till old Davy is quite worn out.”
I may have put horns to the truth in this. But at any rate not very long ones. And the child began to ponder it.
“I tell ’a, old Davy, ’hot to do. Susan say to me one day, kite yell, I amember, ickle Bardie made of money! Does ’a sink so?”
“I think you are made of gold, you beauty; and of diamonds, and the Revelations.”
“Aye yell! Then I tell ’a hot to do. Take poor Bardie to markiss, old Davy; and ’e get a great big money for her.”
She must have seen some famous market; for acting everything as she did (by means of working face, arms, and legs), she put herself up like a fowl in a basket, and spread herself, making the most of her breast, and limping her neck as the dead chickens do. Before I could begin to laugh, Moxy was upon us.
“Dyo! Why for you come again? Never you used to come like this. Put down Delushy, directly moment. No fish she is for you to catch. When you might have had her, here you left her through the face of everything. And now, because great Evan’s staff is cloven, by the will of God, who takes not advantage of him? I thought you would have known better, Dyo. And this little one, that he dotes upon—”
“It is enough,” I answered, with a dignity which is natural to me, when females wound my feelings; “Madame Thomas, it is enough. I will quit your premises.” With these words I turned away, and never looked over my shoulder even, though the little one screamed after me; until I felt Watty hard under my stern, and like a kedge-anchor dragging. Therefore, I let them apologise; till my desire was to forgive them. And after they brought forth proper things, I denied all evil will, and did my best to accomplish it.
Mrs. Thomas returning slowly to her ancient style with me, as I relaxed my dignity, said that now the little maid was getting more at home with them. Mr. Thomas, after what had happened in the neighbourhood—this was the death of her five sons—felt naturally low of spirit; and it was good for him to have a lively child around him. He did not seem quite what he was. And nothing brought him to himself so much as to watch this shadow of life; although she was still afraid of him.
Every word of this was clear to me. It meant ten times what it expressed. Because our common people have a “height of kindness,” some would say, and some a “depth of superstition,” such as leads them delicately to slope off their meaning. But in my blunt and sailor fashion, I said that black Evan must, I feared, be growing rather shaky. I had better have kept this opinion quiet; for Moxy bestowed on me such a gaze of pity mingled with contempt, that knowing what sort of a man he had been, I felt all abroad about everything. All I could say to myself was this, that the only woman of superior mind I ever had the luck to come across, and carefully keep clear of, had taken good care not to have a husband, supposing there had been the occasion. And I think I made mention of her before; because she had been thrice disappointed; and all she said was true almost.
However, Sker-house might say just what it pleased, while I had my written document, and “Delushy” herself (as they stupidly called her by corruption of Andalusia) was not inclined to abandon me. And now she made them as jealous as could be, for she clung to me fast with one hand, while she spread the beautiful tiny fingers of the other to Moxy, as much as to say, “Interrupt me not; I have such a lot of things to tell old Davy.”
And so she had without any mistake; and the vast importance of each matter lost nothing for want of emphasis. Patty Green had passed through a multitude of most surprising adventures, some of them even transcending her larceny of my sugar. Watty had covered himself with glory, and above all little “Dutch,” the sheepdog, was now become a most benevolent and protecting power.
“ ’Hots ’a think, old Davy? Patty Geen been yecked, she has.”
“ ‘Yecked!’ I don’t know what that is, my dear.”
“Ness, I said, ‘yecked,’ old Davy; yecked down nare, same as Bardie was.”
It was clear that she now had taken up with the story which everybody told; and she seemed rather proud of having been wrecked.
“And Patty,” she went on, quite out of breath; “Patty ’poiled all her boofely cothes: such a mess ’e
