“Well, Adam, I’m glad to see ye,” said Mr. Poyser.  “What! ye’ve been helping Hetty to gether the curran’s, eh?  Come, sit ye down, sit ye down.  Why, it’s pretty near a three-week since y’ had your supper with us; and the missis has got one of her rare stuffed chines.  I’m glad ye’re come.”

“Hetty,” said Mrs. Poyser, as she looked into the basket of currants to see if the fruit was fine, “run upstairs and send Molly down.  She’s putting Totty to bed, and I want her to draw th’ ale, for Nancy’s busy yet i’ the dairy.  You can see to the child.  But whativer did you let her run away from you along wi’ Tommy for, and stuff herself wi’ fruit as she can’t eat a bit o’ good victual?”

This was said in a lower tone than usual, while her husband was talking to Adam; for Mrs. Poyser was strict in adherence to her own rules of propriety, and she considered that a young girl was not to be treated sharply in the presence of a respectable man who was courting her.  That would not be fair-play:  every woman was young in her turn, and had her chances of matrimony, which it was a point of honour for other women not to spoil—­just as one market-woman who has sold her own eggs must not try to balk another of a customer.

Hetty made haste to run away upstairs, not easily finding an answer to her aunt’s question, and Mrs. Poyser went out to see after Marty and Tommy and bring them in to supper.

Soon they were all seated—­the two rosy lads, one on each side, by the pale mother, a place being left for Hetty between Adam and her uncle.  Alick too was come in, and was seated in his far corner, eating cold broad beans out of a large dish with his pocket-knife, and finding a flavour in them which he would not have exchanged for the finest pineapple.

“What a time that gell is drawing th’ ale, to be sure!” said Mrs. Poyser, when she was dispensing her slices of stuffed chine.  “I think she sets the jug under and forgets to turn the tap, as there’s nothing you can’t believe o’ them wenches:  they’ll set the empty kettle o’ the fire, and then come an hour after to see if the water boils.”

“She’s drawin’ for the men too,” said Mr. Poyser.  “Thee shouldst ha’ told her to bring our jug up first.”

“Told her?” said Mrs. Poyser.  “Yes, I might spend all the wind i’ my body, an’ take the bellows too, if I was to tell them gells everything as their own sharpness wonna tell ’em.  Mr. Bede, will you take some vinegar with your lettuce?  Aye you’re i’ the right not.  It spoils the flavour o’ the chine, to my thinking.  It’s poor eating where the flavour o’ the meat lies i’ the cruets.  There’s folks as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t’ hide it.”

Mrs. Poyser’s attention was here diverted by the appearance of Molly, carrying a large jug, two small mugs, and four drinking-cans, all full of ale or small beer—­an interesting example of the prehensile power possessed by the human hand.  Poor Molly’s mouth was rather wider open than usual, as she walked along with her eyes fixed on the double cluster of vessels in her hands, quite innocent of the expression in her mistress’s eye.