Next morning, just when Simon’s slumbers were at their deepest and sweetest, he was awakened by an imperative hammering and scratching at the partition which separated his room from that of Mrs. Melmouth; and thereupon dutifully, if somewhat reluctantly, he arose, and soon afterwards found his way to the garden. Early as it was, Rosy was already at work shaking sundry bits of carpet, worn almost threadbare and terribly dusty. “Let me give you a hand,” exclaimed Simon gallantly. “Sich work’s too hard for a maid.” “No, thank ye,” returned Rosy sharply. “I shan’t get much credit anyway; but what I said I’d do, I’ll do,” and she gave another vicious shake to the ragged carpet. “I be pure sorry you should think I want to rob ye of any credit,” observed Simon mournfully. “There, you do seem to ha’ turned again’ me terrible; and ’tis quite other-way wi’ me--I did like ’ee from the first.” “No thanks to ye, then!” retorted Rosy; and, snatching up a stick, she began to belabour the mat with so meaning an air that Simon felt as if the onslaught were committed on his own shoulders. “I wish you’d get on with your work,” she exclaimed presently. “You’re the favourite, and you’ll get the reward, but you mid jist so well do summat to earn it.” “Now look ’ee here,” said Simon, and his usually merry eyes flashed angrily; “this here bit o’ business bain’t to my likin’ no ways. What do I care for the wold stockin’? I can earn enough to keep myself--ah, that I can--an’ I could keep a wife, too, if I wanted one; an’ what’s farty pound? The wold ’ooman had best keep it to be buried with.” “For shame!” cried Rosy. “’Tis pure ongrateful of ye to speak so, and Aunt Becky so took up wi’ ye.” “Well, I can’t help it,” returned the young man bluntly. “The job bain’t to my likin’. I did come out for a hollerday, and here I be ordered to set ’taters--an’ what’s more, I get nothin’ but cross looks and sharp words what I don’t deserve.” “I’m sure your aunt speaks civil enough,” said Rosy in a somewhat mollified tone. “An’ so she mid,” responded he promptly. “She mid very well be civil when she do expect so much. But there’s others what’s uncivil, and ’tis that what I can’t abide. I’ve a good mind,” he added gloomily, “to cut an’ run--yes, I have,” he cried resolutely. “I’d sooner be cleanin’ out pigstyes nor be treated so unkind as you do treat I. But for that matter, my mother ’ull be glad enough to see I. I’ll step home-along--that’s the very thing I’ll do; I’ll step home-along.” “Oh, but what will Aunt Becky say?” cried Rosy in alarm. “Aunt Becky be blowed!” exclaimed Simon with decision. “Let her say what she pleases. I’ll leave her an’ you to make it up together. ’Tis more nor flesh an’ blood can stand to be treated as you’ve a-treated I since I did come to this house.” “Oh, please--please don’t go!” gasped the girl. “There, I really didn’t mean--I--I--I only thought my aunt a bit unjust.”