but mother saw any need of encouraging me to eat, I could only manage
one true good meal in a day, at the time I speak of. Mother was in
despair at this, and tempted me with the whole of the rack, and even
talked of sending to Porlock for a druggist who came there twice in
a week; and Annie spent all her time in cooking, and even Lizzie sang
songs to me; for she could sing very sweetly. But my conscience told me
that Betty Muxworthy had some reason upon her side.

"Latt the young ozebird aloun, zay I. Makk zuch ado about un, wi'
hogs'-puddens, and hock-bits, and lambs'-mate, and whaten bradd indade,
and brewers' ale avore dinner-time, and her not to zit wi' no winder
aupen--draive me mad 'e doo, the ov'ee, zuch a passel of voouls. Do 'un
good to starve a bit; and takk zome on's wackedness out ov un."

But mother did not see it so; and she even sent for Nicholas Snowe
to bring his three daughters with him, and have ale and cake in the
parlour, and advise about what the bees were doing, and when a swarm
might be looked for. Being vexed about this and having to stop at home
nearly half the evening, I lost good manners so much as to ask him (even
in our own house!) what he meant by not mending the swing-hurdle where
the Lynn stream flows from our land into his, and which he is bound to
maintain. But he looked at me in a superior manner, and said, "Business,
young man, in business time."

I had other reason for being vexed with Farmer Nicholas just now, viz.
that I had heard a rumour, after church one Sunday--when most of all we
sorrow over the sins of one another--that Master Nicholas Snowe had
been seen to gaze tenderly at my mother, during a passage of the sermon,
wherein the parson spoke well and warmly about the duty of Christian
love. Now, putting one thing with another, about the bees, and about
some ducks, and a bullock with a broken knee-cap, I more than suspected
that Farmer Nicholas was casting sheep's eyes at my mother; not only to
save all further trouble in the matter of the hurdle, but to override me
altogether upon the difficult question of damming. And I knew quite well
that John Fry's wife never came to help at the washing without declaring
that it was a sin for a well-looking woman like mother, with plenty
to live on, and only three children, to keep all the farmers for miles
around so unsettled in their minds about her. Mother used to answer "Oh
fie, Mistress Fry! be good enough to mind your own busine