"They were only empty ones, with corks and strings, you know, sir. My wife,
she know better than put the ginger-beer its own self in the sun. But I do
think she carry her head higher after that; and a farm-labourer, as they
call them, was none good enough for her daughter."
"And hasn't she been kind to her since she married, then?"
"She's never done her no harm, sir."
"But she hasn't gone to see her very often, or asked her to come and see
you very often, I suppose?"
"There's ne'er a one o' them crossed the door of the other," he answered,
with some evident feeling of his own in the matter.
"Ah; but you don't approve of that yourself, Stokes?"
"Approve of it? No, sir. I be a farm-labourer once myself; and so I do want
to see my own daughter now and then. But she take after her mother, she do.
I don't know which of the two it is as does it, but there's no coming and
going between Carpstone and this."
We were approaching the house. I told Stokes he had better let her know I
was there; for that, if she had changed her mind, it was not too late for
me to go home again without disturbing her.
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