at him, or, if conscious, entirely unembarrassed by them.

"Well, Charles, Mr. Cauldwell writes me that ye don't know
much about horses or gardening, but he thinks ye have parts
and can pick it up quickly."

Still keeping his eyes on Miss Meredith, Fownes nodded his
head, with a short, quick jerk, far from respectful.

"But he also says ye are a surly, hot-tempered fellow, who
may need a touch of a whip now and again."

Without turning his head, a second time the man gave a jerk
of it, conveying an idea of assent, but it was the assent of contempt
far more than of accord.

"Come, come," ordered the squire, testily. "Let 's have a
sound of your tongue. Is Mr. Cauldwell right?"

Still looking at Miss Meredith, the man shrugged his shoulders,
and replied, "Bain't vor the bikes of ar to zay Mister
Cauldwell bai a liar." Yet the voice and manner left little doubt
in the hearers as to the speaker's private opinion, and Janice
laughed, partly at the implication, but more in nervousness.

"What kind of work are ye used to?" asked Mr. Meredith.

The man hesitated for a moment and then muttered crossly,
"Ar indentured vor to work, not to bai questioned."