"She hev laid a spell on him, ’tis a good thing for Mother Hanson her bain’t living a hundred years ago, or burned for a witch her would be, certain sure! And his coat buttons, I never see such a sight, ’Lizabeth!"
"Drat his coat buttons! What be they to me?"
"Two gone out of the four and two others hanging by threads, and him working his fingers whiles he were talking wi’ me, pulling they off, a rare busy time wi’ her needle will Abram Lestwick’s wife hev! Wonderful restless and nervis he be about the hands, ’Lizabeth!"
"Drat his hands!" said Elizabeth Colley. "He doan’t catch me sewing on his buttons for him, no nor for the best man living neither, which Abram Lestwick b’aint!"
Down the road went Abram Lestwick, the weak chin under the straggling growth of black hair looked a shade more resolute this evening, for he had made up his mind.
Was he, Abram Lestwick, the man to stand nonsense from a mere maid who dared oppose his will with her own? No! Was he not Farmer Patcham’s foreman and first hand, looked up to and respected? He was!
Had he not a cottage of four rooms of his own? He had! Was he not in receipt of a steady income of thirty-five shillings a week, of which he had no less than forty-three pounds ten saved and standing in the Post Office Savings Bank to his credit? He was!
"I’ll put up wi’ no more dilly dallying wi’ she!" he said to himself, "I be a strong intentioned man, not a boy like some, to be put off wi’ a grimace and a shake o’ a head, and such like! And so I’ll let her know and I hev her grandmother’s good wishes!"
He did not falter, he flung open the little green painted gate of Mrs. Hanson’s front garden and trod manfully up the broken stone pathway to the cottage door.
"Why if it bain’t Abram!" said Mrs. Hanson, in a tone of surprise, though she had been watching the clock for him this past half hour. Betty, pouring boiling water from the kettle into the brown teapot, started, so that the hot water splashed on her hand, but she uttered no sound. Her face turned white, perhaps it was the pain from the boiling water, perhaps the sound of the man’s voice!
"Good evening to ’ee, Abram," said Mrs. Hanson. She looked across the room to the girl. "Betty, here be Abram!"