"Perhaps not his back, citizen, but his heart? if little odd jobs will
not break that, why nothing will. Torn from place to place, and from
trouble to trouble; as soon as one tiresome thing begins to go a bit
smooth, off to a fresh plague, in-doors work when it is dry, out-a-doors
when it snows; and then all bustle; no taking one's work quietly, the
only way it agrees with a fellow. 'Milk the cow, Dard, but look sharp;
the baroness's chair wants mending. Take these slops to the pig, but you
must not wait to see him enjoy them: you are wanted to chop billets.'
Beat the mats, take down the curtains, walk to church (best part of
a league), and heat the pew cushions; come back and cut the cabbages,
paint the door, and wheel the old lady about the terrace, rub
quicksilver on the little dog's back,--mind he don't bite you to make
hisself sick,--repair the ottoman, roll the gravel, scour the kettles,
carry half a ton of water up two purostairs, trim the turf, prune the
vine, drag the fish-pond; and when you ARE there, go in and gather water
lilies for Mademoiselle Josephine while you are drowning the puppies;
that is little odd jobs: may Satan twist her neck who invented them!"

"Very sad all this," said young Riviere.

Dard took the little sneer for sympathy, and proceeded to "the cruellest
wrong of all."

"When I go into their kitchen to court Jacintha a bit, instead of
finding a good supper there, which a man has a right to, courting a
cook, if I don't take one in my pocket, there is no supper, not to
say supper, for either her or me. I don't call a salad and a bit of
cheese-rind--SUPPER. Beggars in silk and satin! Every sou they have goes
on to their backs, instead of into their bellies."