I d' 'no ez thet 'ud go with it pitickler.
Haw! haw!"
Hilda kept her eyes on her plate, determined to pay no attention to the
vulgar pleasantries of this unkempt monster. It was hard enough to eat
with a steel fork, without being further tormented. But the farmer
seemed determined to drag her into conversation.
"How's yer ha-alth in gineral, Huldy? Pooty rugged, be ye? Seems to me
ye look kin' o' peaked."
"I am quite well!" It was Queen Hildegarde who spoke now, in icy tones;
but her coldness had no effect on her loquacious host.
"I s'pose ye'll want ter lay by a day or two, till ye git used ter
things, like; but then I sh'll want ye ter take holt. We're short-handed
now, and a smart, likely gal kin be a sight o' help. There's the cows
ter milk--the' ain't but one o' them thet's real ugly, and _she_ only
kicks with the off hind-leg; so 't's easy enough ter look out for her."
Hilda looked up in horror and amazement, and caught a twinkle in the
farmer's eye which told her that he was quizzing her. The angry blood
surged up even to the roots of her hair; but she disdained to reply, and
continued to crumble her bread in silence.
"Father, what ails you?" said kind Dame Hartley. "Why can't you let the
child alone? She's tired yet, and she doesn't understand your joking
ways.--Don't you mind the farmer, dear, one bit; his heart's in the
right place, but he do love to tease."
But the good woman's gentle words were harder to bear, at that moment,
than her husband's untimely jesting.
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