"I thought the lady kind enough," interposed another woman. "She noticed how lame our granny was with the rheumatics, and told me to send up for broth." "We wants somewhat bad enough," returned another thin woman, with her hand to her side. "Nobody never does nothing for no one here!" "Nor we don't want no one to come worriting and terrifying," cried the last of the group, with fierce black eyes and rusty black hair sticking out beyond her man's beaver hat, tied on with a yellow handkerchief. "Always at one about church and school, and meddling with everything-- the ribbon on one's bonnet and to the very pots on the fire. I knows what they be like in Tydeby! And what do you get by it, but old cast clothes and broth made of dish-washings?" She enforced all this with more than one word not to be written. "I know, I'd be thankful for that!" murmured the thin woman, who looked as if she had barely a petticoat on, and could have had scarcely a breakfast. "Oh, we all know's Bessy Mole is all for what she can get!" said the independent woman, tossing her head. "And had need to be," returned Molly Hewlett, in a scornful tone, which made the poor woman in question stoop all the lower, and pull her groundsel more diligently. "The broth ain't bad," ventured she who had tried it. "I shall see what I can get out of them," added another. "I bain't proud; and my poor children's shoes is a shame to see." "You'll not get much," said Molly Hewlett, with a sniff. "The captain, as they calls him, come down on my Jem, as was taking home a little bit of a chip for the fire, and made him put it down, as cross as could be." "How now, you lazy, trolloping, gossiping women! What are you after?" Farmer Goodenough was upon them; and the words he showered on them were not by any means "good enough" to be repeated here. He stormed at them for their idleness so furiously as to set off the babies in the hedge screaming and yelling. Tirzah Todd, the gipsy-looking woman whom he especially abused, tossed her head and marched off in the midst, growling fiercely, to quiet her child; and he, sending a parting imprecation after her, directed his violence upon poor Bessy Mole, though all this time she had been creeping on, shaking, trembling, and crying, under the pelting of the storm; but, unluckily, in her nervousness and blindness from tears, she pulled up a young turnip, and the farmer fell on her and rated her hotly for not being worth half her wage, and doing him more harm than good with her carelessness. She had not a word to say for herself, and went on shivering and trying to check her sobs while he shouted out that he only employed her from charity, and she had better look out, or he should turn her off at once. "Oh, sir, don't!" then came out with a burst of tears. "My poor children--" "Don't go whining about your children, but let me see you do your work."