"And how be the both on ’em now, Tim? A must have gone haigh enough to channge the mune. "Wull, Miss," said Tim, addressing me, for he had told his Mistress all the story twice, "Tom Gundry brak his collar boun, and zarve ’un raight, for a brak Phil Dascombe’s a puppose whun a got ’un in a trap, that taime down to Bodmin thar; and harse gat a rick of his taial; but the little chap, he vell upon his hat, and that zaved him kindly. But I heer’d down to Pewter Will’s, whur I gooed for a drap of zumthin for my waife’s stommick, ai heer’d zay there, as how Constable was a coomin to Maister this very naight, if Carnishers cud have perswadded un. But Constable zaith, zaith he, ’Twor all along o you Garnish chaps, fust battery was mad, and fust blow gien, and wi’out you can zhow me Squaire Drake’s warrant, I wunt have nout to do wi’ it, not ai; and that be law and gospel in Davonsheer and in Cornwall.’" "Tim," said Mrs. Huxtable, "I’se warrant thee’s niver tould so long a spin up in thee’s laife avore. And thee’s tould it wonnerful well too; hathn’t un Miss Clerer? Zuke, here be the kay of zellar, gie Tim a half a paint more zider; and thee mai’st have a drap theesell, gall. Waipe thee mouth fust." "Ah," said Tim, favouring me with a wink, in the excess of his glory, "rackon they Carnishers ’ll know the wai off Tossil’s Barton varm next taime, wi’out no saign postesses."[#] [#] Every word of Tim’s story is true, except as regards the names. CHAPTER VI. Two or three days after this, I was keeping school in the dairy, the parlour being too small for that purpose, and the kitchen and "wash-up" (as they called the back-kitchen) too open to inroads from Suke and Tim. My class consisted of ten, or rather was eight strong, the two weames (big baby and little baby), only attending for the sake of example, and because they would have roared, if parted from the other children. So those two were allowed to spraddle on the floor, where sometimes they made little rollers of themselves, with much indecorum, and between whiles sat gravely sucking their fat red fingers, and then pointed them in a glistening state at me or my audience, and giggled with a large contempt. The eight, who made believe to learn something, were the six elder Huxtables, and two of Tim Badcock’s "young uns." I marshalled them, four on each side, against the low lime-whitened walls, which bore the pans of cream and milk. Little Sally, my head scholar, was very proud of measuring her height, by the horizontal line on the milk-pan where the glazing ended; which Tabitha Badcock, even on tiptoe, could not reach. They were all well "claned," and had white pinnies on, and their ruddy cheeks rubbed up to the highest possible polish, with yellow soap and the jack-towel behind the wash-up door. Hence, I never could relieve them from the idea that Sunday now came every day in the week.