"You'll git used to it by and by," said Blackshaw.

"Used to it! A person 'ud hev to be brought up onder a hen to git used to
the dullness of this hole."

"You wasn't brought up under a hen, or it must have been a big Bramer
Pooter, if you were," replied he, noting the liberal proportions of her
figure as she hauled a couple of heavy pots off the fire. He did not
offer to help her. Etiquette of that sort was beyond his ken.

"You oughter go out more and then you wouldn't find it so dull," he said,
after she had placed the pots on the floor.

"Go out! Where 'ud I go to, pray?"

"Drop in an' see my missus again when you git time. You're always
welcome."

"Thanks, but I had plenty of goin' to see your missus last time."

"How's that?"

"Why, I wasn't there harf an hour wen she had to strip off her clean duds
an' go an' milk. I don't think much of any of the men around here. They
let the women work too hard. I never see such a tired wore-out set of
women. It puts me in mind ev the time wen the black fellers made the gins
do all the work. Why, on Bruggabrong the women never had to do no outside
work, only on a great pinch wen all the men were away at a fire or a
muster. Down here they do everything. They do all the milkin', and
pig-feedin', and poddy-rarin'. It makes me feel fit to retch. I don't