"`Never mind your shins, my good man,' I says, `help me in with my things, and I'll find you a bit of cold meat,' and then I recklets myself as there might be no cold meat in the house, and I turns it into a pint of beer, being a stranger to the place. "`And what's your name, young woman,' I says to a fine doll of a housemaid, a-darning stockings in the noo kidgin, as smelt of paint to that degree that you might have been lodging in a ile-shop, while the man stood a-turning over his happince on the mat--I mean on his hands, and him on the door-mat, and not satisfied till I give him twopence more, which not having enough I give him a sixpence, to go and get it, and him never a-coming back, and keeping the whole sixpence and the two pence, too, as would have tried any woman's temper, if even she hadn't been a cook, which is the mildest and quietest beings as ever dished a jynt. "`And what's your name, young woman?' I says to my fine madam, as she sat there and didn't seem to know the proper respect to years, though she did prick her finger till the blood come, and serve her right, too, and if I did not expect from her looks as she'd be that vulgar to answer me disrespeckful and say, when I said `What's your name?' `Pudding and Tame,' like the gals did when I went to school, which wasn't yesterday, you know; but she didn't, but says, quite huffy, `Jane,' she says. "`Ho!' I says, werry distant, as I took off my bonnet and shawl, and laid 'em on the dresser. `Ho!' I says, and then I sits me down afore the fire, and puts my feet on the fender; for as I had my gloshes on to come in I wouldn't wear my best boots, but left 'em in my box, and there, through there being a crack in the side, if the water hadn't soaked right through, and wetten'd my feet, so that they steamed again. "At last, seeing as my fine lady meant to be uppish, I says to her, I says, in a tone o' wyce as showed I didn't mean to be trifled with, and if she meant to sit in my kidgin she must know who was missus. `Jane,' I says, `you'd best put some more coals on the fire.' "`You'd best not,' she says. `It smokes.' "I didn't say nothing to her then, but I says to myself, `Martha,' I says, `Martha Jinks, you've made a mistake; for if there is one mortial thing as I can't abear, it's smoke.' "At last I says, `Jane,' I says, `I can't abear this smell of the paint any longer.' "`Oh!' she says, `this is nothing; the place is noo, and it's worse upstairs in our bedroom, which was done last.' "`Worse?' I says. `Young woman,' I says, in a whisper, `it makes me feel faint. If you've the heart that can feel for another inside your stays,' I says, `get me a wee drop of g--.' "And she wouldn't!