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- 6202
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.985Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 6122
- text
- and another voice said, ‘Come, wife; come, come--I must be back again in
a jiff--if you say I _must_ take all my meals at home, you must be
speedy; because the Squire---- Good-day, sir,’ he exclaimed, now first
catching sight of me as he entered the room. He turned toward his wife,
inquiringly, and stood stock-still, while the moisture oozed from his
patched boots to the floor.
‘This gentleman stops here a while to rest and refresh: he will take
dinner with us, too. All will be ready now in a trice: so sit down on
the bench, husband, and be patient, I pray. You see, sir,’ she
continued, turning to me, ‘William there wants, of mornings, to carry a
cold meal into the woods with him, to save the long one-o’clock walk
across the fields to and fro. But I won’t let him. A warm dinner is more
than pay for the long walk.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said William, shaking his head. ‘I have often
debated in my mind whether it really paid. There’s not much odds, either
way, between a wet walk after hard work, and a wet dinner before it. But
I like to oblige a good wife like Martha. And you know, sir, that women
will have their whimseys.’
‘I wish they all had as kind whimseys as your wife has,’ said I.
‘Well, I’ve heard that some women ain’t all maple-sugar; but, content
with dear Martha, I don’t know much about others.’
‘You find rare wisdom in the woods,’ mused I.
‘Now, husband, if you ain’t too tired, just lend a hand to draw the
table out.’
‘Nay,’ said I; ‘let him rest, and let me help.’
‘No,’ said William, rising.
‘Sit still,’ said his wife to me.
The table set, in due time we all found ourselves with plates before us.
‘You see what we have,’ said Coulter--‘salt pork, rye-bread, and
pudding. Let me help you. I got this pork of the Squire; some of his
last year’s pork, which he let me have on account. It isn’t quite so
sweet as this year’s would be; but I find it hearty enough to work on,
and that’s all I eat for. Only let the rheumatiz and other sicknesses
keep clear of me, and I ask no flavours or favours from any. But you
don’t eat of the pork!’
‘I see,’ said the wife, gently and gravely, ‘that the gentleman knows
the difference between this year’s and last year’s pork. But perhaps he
will like the pudding.’
I summoned up all my self-control, and smilingly assented to the
proposition of the pudding, without by my looks casting any reflections
upon the pork. But, to tell the truth, it was quite impossible for me
(not being ravenous, but only a little hungry at the time) to eat of the
latter. It had a yellowish crust all round it, and was rather rankish, I
thought, to the taste. I observed, too, that the dame did not eat of it,
though she suffered some to be put on her plate, and pretended to be
busy with it when Coulter looked that way. But she ate of the rye-bread,
and so did I.
‘Now, then, for the pudding,’ said Coulter. ‘Quick, wife; the Squire
sits in his sitting-room window, looking far out across the fields. His
timepiece is true.’
‘He don’t play the spy on you, does he?’ said I.
‘Oh, no!--I don’t say that. He’s a good enough man. He gives me work.
But he’s particular. Wife, help the gentleman. You see, sir, if I lose
the Squire’s work, what will become of----’ and, with a look for which I
honoured humanity, with sly significance he glanced toward his wife;
then, a little changing his voice, instantly continued--‘that fine horse
I am going to buy.’
‘I guess,’ said the dame, with a strange, subdued sort of inefficient
pleasantry--‘I guess that fine horse you sometimes so merrily dream of
will long stay in the Squire’s stall. But sometimes his man gives me a
Sunday ride.’
‘A Sunday ride!’ said I.
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