ur Joe and licked him,' pursued
Samson. 'If ever it should come to my knowledge as a truth I'd put
Master Joe in such fettle he wouldn't sit down for the best side a month
o' Sundays.'

'They 'm giving the child such airs,' said his wife, 'it's enough to
turn the bread o' life which nourishes.'

Mrs. Mountain had an object in view, and, after her own fashion, had
held it long in view in silence. The moment seemed to her propitious,
and she determined to approach it.

'Young toad!' said Samson, rising to kick at the coals with his
heavy-heeled boot, and plunging backward into the chair again.

'To hear him talk--that fine an' mincin'--you'd think he was one o'
my lord's grandchildren or a son o' the squire's at least,' said Mrs.
Mountain, approaching her theme with circuitous caution.

'Ay!' Samson assented 'It's enough to turn your stomach to listen to
him.'

'If they go on as they're goings pursued his wife, circling a little
nearer, 'we shall live to see fine things.'

'We shall, indeed,' said Samson, a little mollified to find his wife so
unusually warm in the quarrel. 'There's no such a thing as contentment
to be found amongst 'em. They settle up to be looked upon as
gentlefolks.'

'Yes; fine things we shall live to see, no doubt, if we don't tek care.
But thanks be, Samson, it's left in our own hands.'

'What be'st hoverin' at?' demanded Samson, turning upon her with his
surly red face.

'Things ain't what they used to be when you an' me was younger,' said
Mrs. Mountain. 'The plain ode-fashioned Barfield talk as you and me
was bred up to, Samson, ain't good enough nowadays for the very
kitchen wenches and the labourers on the farm. Everybody's gettin' that
new-fangled!'

'Barfield's good enough for me, and good enough for mine,' said Samson,
with sulky wrath.

'It's good enough for we, to be sure, but whether it's good enough for
ourn is another churnin' o' butter altogether,' his wife answered. 'It
ud seem as if ivery generation talked different from one another. My
mother, as was a very well-spoken woman for her day, used to call a cup
o' tay a dish o' tay, and that's a thing as only the very ignorant ud
stoop to nowadays.' Samson growled, and wallowed discontentedly in
the big arm-chair. 'A mother's got her natural feelings, Samson,' Mrs.
Mountain continued, with an air and tone of mildest resignation. 'I
don't scruple to allow as it'll hurt me if I should live to see our Joe
looked down upon by