So she locked up her drawer and went away to her early work.
In the evening, when Mr. Poyser was smoking his pipe, and his good-nature was therefore at its superlative moment, Hetty seized the opportunity of her aunt’s absence to say, “Uncle, I wish you’d let me go for a lady’s maid.”
Mr. Poyser took the pipe from his mouth and looked at Hetty in mild surprise for some moments. She was sewing, and went on with her work industriously.
“Why, what’s put that into your head, my wench?” he said at last, after he had given one conservative puff.
“I should like it—I should like it better than farm-work.”
“Nay, nay; you fancy so because you donna know it, my wench. It wouldn’t be half so good for your health, nor for your luck i’ life. I’d like you to stay wi’ us till you’ve got a good husban
