'Ya may weel fret, mum,' said Mr. Backhouse, interrupting the flood
of her reproaches, with the comparative _sang-froid_ of one who
knew that, after all, he was the only carrier on the road, and that
the vicarage was five miles from the necessaries of life; 'it's a
bad job, and I's not goin' to say it isn't. But; ya jest look 'ere,
mum, what's a man to du wi' a daft thingamy like _that_, as caan't
teak a plain order, and spiles a poor man's business as caan't help
hissel'?'

And Mr. Backhouse pointed with withering scorn to a small, shrunken
old man, who sat dangling his legs on the shaft of the cart, and
whose countenance wore a singular expression of mingled meekness
and composure, as his partner flourished an indignant finger toward
him.

'Jim,' cried Mrs. Thornburgh reproachfully, 'I did think you would
have taken more pains about my order!'

'Yis, mum,'said the old man, placidly, 'ya might 'a' thowt it. I's
reet sorry, but ya caan't help these things _sum_times--an' it's
naw gud hollerin' ower 'em like a mad bull. Aa tuke yur bit paper
to Randall's and aa laft it wi' 'em to mek up, an' than, aa weel,
aa went to a frind, an' ee _may_ hev giv' me a glass of yale, aa
doon't say ee _dud_--but ee may, I ween't sweer. Hawsomiver, aa
niver thowt naw mair aboot it, nor mair did John, so _ee_ needn't
taak--till we wur jest two mile from 'ere. An' ee's a gon' on
sence! My! an' a larroping the poor beast like onything.'

Mrs. Thornburgh stood aghast at the calmness of this audacious