d for the cottagers on a country squire's estate to receive their
supplies of milk and butter from the dairy of the manor house, on whose
pastures a herd of milch kine was usually fed for the convenience of the
neighbourhood. Miss Keeldar owned such a herd--all deep-dewlapped,
Craven cows, reared on the sweet herbage and clear waters of bonny
Airedale; and very proud she was of their sleek aspect and high
condition.) Seeing now the state of matters, and that it was desirable
to effect a clearance of the premises, Shirley stepped in amongst the
gossiping groups. She bade them good-morning with a certain frank,
tranquil ease--the natural characteristic of her manner when she
addressed numbers, especially if those numbers belonged to the
working-class; she was cooler amongst her equals, and rather proud to
those above her. She then asked them if they had all got their milk
measured out; and understanding that they had, she further observed that
she "wondered what they were waiting for, then."

"We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been at your mill,
mistress," replied a man.

"Talking a bit! Just like you!" said Shirley. "It is a queer thing all
the world is so fond of _talking_ over events. You _talk_ if anybody
dies suddenly; you _talk_ if a fire breaks out; you _talk_ if a
mill-owner fails; you _talk_ if he's murdered. What good does your
talking do?"

There is nothing the lower orders like better than a little downright
good-humoured rating. Flattery they scorn very much; honest abuse they
enjoy. They call it speaking plainly, and take a sincere delight in
being the objects thereof. The homely harshness of Miss Keeldar's
salutation won her the ear of the whole throng in a second.

"We're no war nor some 'at is aboon us, are we?" asked a man, smiling.

"Nor a whit better. You that should be models of industry are just as
gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich people that have nothing to do may
be partly excused for trifling their time away; you who have to earn
your bread with the sweat of your brow are quite inexcusable."

"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday because we work
hard?"

"_Never_," was the prompt answer; "unless," added the "mistress," with a
smile that half belied the severity of her speech--"unless you knew how
to make a better use of it than to get together over rum and tea if you
are women, or over beer and pipes if you are men, and _talk_ scandal at
your neighbour