“’Tis no worse for me nor ’tis for you, my dear,” put in Bithey with a groan of sympathy. “You had farther to come nor me, an’ you must be half shook to pieces a-ridin’ in that wold cart.” “In the name o’ fortun’,” cried the exasperated Mr. Meatyard, “which on you did get the prize? There you do go chatterin’ an’ jabberin’ and neither of you will tell us which be the winner.” “You’d never think—” began Bithey. “’Tis the most unfairest thing you ever did hear on!” exclaimed Becky. “There was the two of us—the woldest women for miles round, I’ll go bail. I’m sure ye did only need to look at Bithey here to see it.” “And I’m sure,” wailed Tabitha, “the very sight o’ your grey hair did ought to ha’ shamed them, Becky.” Here the impatient farmer made a sudden lunge at them, almost after the fashion of the curly-horned prize ram, and the two old women simultaneously announced in an agitated whimper:— “There, they didn’t give the prize to neither of us!” “Dear heart alive! you don’t say so?” said Mrs. Meatyard, after a pause of blank amazement, while her husband uttered a shrill whistle. “Didn’t ’ee get no prize at all then?” “Wasn’t ’ee so much as ‘’Ighly Commended,’ Beck?” cried her master, recovering from his stupor, and uttering a roar of laughter. “No, sir,” returned Rebecca mournfully, “I didn’t get nothin’ at all—nor Bithey neither. They never took a bit of notice after they’d axed how long we’d been in our present sitooations. They went and give the butter-dish to quite a young ’ooman. I don’t think she can ha’ been more nor fifty-five. ’Ees, sir, if ye’ll believe me, a big strapping woman as stout as me and Bithey put together, and so firm on her legs as anything.” “Whew!” whistled the farmer again, “you don’t say so! Well, I never did—there must ha’ been some reason as you didn’t know on.” “Maybe she was blind,” suggested Mrs. Meatyard. “That ’ud be a p’int in her favour.” “No more blind nor yourself, ma’am,” returned Becky almost triumphantly. “She’d a-been thirty year in the one place—that was all as I could hear as she could say for herself, and they went and give her the butter-dish wi’out no more talk than that. So, when I did see how upset poor Bithey was—an’ she so troubled with the rheumatiz, poor wold body—I jist says to her, says I, ‘You take my arm, my dear,’ says I; ‘you jist come along of I.’ And she were glad enough to do it.” “I d’ ’low I was,” agreed her whilom rival. “I reckon I thought it oncommon kind. ’Ees,’ says I, ‘Becky love,’ says I, ‘I take it oncommon kind o’ you to help me same as you’re a-doin’ of, for ye bain’t so young yourself,’ says I.” Mr. Meatyard slapped his thigh and shouted with laughter. “You’ve changed your note, I see—both on you,” he exclaimed as soon as he could speak. “Well, and where are you bound for now?”