kitchen
door--the only entrance ever used, and one always open except in bad
weather--and Mr. Brooke, saying soothingly, "Well, well, I'll speak to
your wife--I didn't mean beating, you know," turned to walk to the
house. But Dagley, only the more inclined to "have his say" with a
gentleman who walked away from him, followed at once, with Fag
slouching at his heels and sullenly evading some small and probably
charitable advances on the part of Monk.

"How do you do, Mrs. Dagley?" said Mr. Brooke, making some haste. "I
came to tell you about your boy: I don't want you to give him the
stick, you know." He was careful to speak quite plainly this time.

Overworked Mrs. Dagley--a thin, worn woman, from whose life pleasure
had so entirely vanished that she had not even any Sunday clothes which
could give her satisfaction in preparing for church--had already had a
misunderstanding with her husband since he had come home, and was in
low spirits, expecting the worst. But her husband was beforehand in
answering.

"No, nor he woon't hev the stick, whether you want it or no," pursued
Dagley, throwing out his voice, as if he wanted it to hit hard.
"You've got no call to come an' talk about sticks o' these primises, as
you woon't give a stick tow'rt mending. Go to Middlemarch to ax for
_your_ charrickter."

"You'd far better hold your tongue, Dagley," said the wife, "and not
kick your own trough over. When a man as is father of a family has
been an' spent money at market and made himself the worse for liquor,
he's done enough mischief for one day. But I should like to know what
my boy's done, sir."

"Niver do you mind what he's done," said Dagley, more fiercely, "it's
my business to speak, an' not yourn. An' I wull speak, too. I'll hev
my say--supper or no. An' what I say is, as I've lived upo' your
ground from my father and grandfather afore me, an' hev dropped our
money into't, an' me an' my children might lie an' rot on the ground
for top-dressin' as we can't find the money to buy, if the King wasn't
to put a stop."

"My good fellow, you're drunk, you know," said Mr. Brooke,
confidentially but not judiciously. "Another day, another day," he
added, turning as if to go.

But Dagley immediately fronted him, and Fag at his heels growled low,
as his master's voice grew louder and more insulting, while Monk also
drew close in silent dignified watch. The laborers on the wagon were
pausing to listen, and it seemed wi