"How d'you mean?"

"The others äun't fatted präaperly."

"Nonsense--you know we never give 'em cake or turnips, so what does it
matter?"

"They äun't fit."

"I tell you they'll do well enough. I don't expect to get such prices
for them as for that lot you've kept down in the New Innings, but they
won't fetch much under, for I declare they're good meat. If we keep them
over the winter we'll have to send them inland and pay no end for their
grazing--and then maybe the price of mutton ull go down in the Spring."

"It ud be a fool's job to täake them."

"You say that because you don't want to have to fetch them up from the
Salt Innings. I tell you you're getting lazy, Fuller."

"My old mäaster never called me that."

"Well, you work as well for me as you did for him, and I won't call you
lazy, neither."

She gave him a conciliatory grin, but Fuller had been too deeply wounded
for such easy balm. He turned and walked away, a whole speech written in
the rebellious hunch of his shoulders.