At this moment, when I could say nothing, being thoroughly convicted of ingratitude, and ashamed before natures far better than my own, dear little Sally, who had been rolling on the dairy floor, recovered from the burst of childish grief enough to ask whether it had any cause. Up to me she ran, with great pearl tears on the veining of her cheeks, and peeping through the lashes of her violet-blue eyes, she gave me one long reproachful look, as if she began to understand the world, and to find it disappointment; then she buried her flaxen head in the homespun apron I had lately taken to wear, and sobbed as if she had spoiled a dozen copies. What happened afterwards I cannot tell. Crying I hate, but there are times when nothing else is any good. I only know that, as the farmer left the house to get, as he said, "a little braze," these ominous words came back from the court: "’Twud be a bad job for Tom Grundy, if her coom’d acrass me now." CHAPTER V. That same evening, as I was sitting in my lonely room, yet not quite alone,--for little Sally, who always did as I bade her, was scratching and blotting her best copy-book, under my auspices,--in burst Mrs. Huxtable, without stopping to knock as usual. "Oh Miss Clerer, what _have_ e been and doed? Varmer’s in crule trouble. Us’ll arl have to goo to gaol to-morrow, chillers and arl." She was greatly flurried and out of breath, and yet seemed proud of what she had to tell. She did not require much asking, nor beat about the bush, as many women do; but told me the story shortly, and then asked me to come and hear all particulars from Tim Badcock the farm-labourer, who had seen the whole. Tim sat by the kitchen fire with a pint of cider by him on the little round table; strong evidence that his tidings, after all, were not so very unwelcome. "Wull, you zee, Miss," said Tim, after getting up, and pulling his rough forelock, "you zee, Miss, the Maister coom out this arternoon, in a weist zort of a wai, as if her hadn’t had no dinner." Here he gave a sly look at "the Missus," who had the credit of stopping the supplies, when the farmer had been too much on the cruise. "What odds to thee, Tim," she replied, "what odds to thee, what thee betters has for dinner?" "Noo fai," said Tim, "zo long as ai gits maine, and my missus arlways has un raddy. Zo I zed to Bill, zays I, ’Best maind what thee’s at boy, there’s a starm a coomin, zure as my name’s Timothy Badcock.’ Howsomever her didn’t tak on atarl wi we, but kitched up a shivel, and worked awai without niver a ward. ’Twur the tap of the clave, ’langside of the beg fuzz, where the braidle road coomth along ’twixt that and the double hadge; and us was arl a stubbing up the bushes as plaisant as could be, to plough thiccy plat for clover, coom some rain, plase God." "Git on, Tim, wull e," cried his impatient mistress, "us knows arl about that. Cas’n thee tull it no quicker?"