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Updated: June 24, 2025
Winterborne was standing before the brick oven in his shirt-sleeves, tossing in thorn sprays, and stirring about the blazing mass with a long-handled, three-pronged Beelzebub kind of fork, the heat shining out upon his streaming face and making his eyes like furnaces, the thorns crackling and sputtering; while Creedle, having ranged the pastry dishes in a row on the table till the oven should be ready, was pressing out the crust of a final apple-pie with a rolling-pin.
"Good God, Creedle, you'll drive me mad!" said Giles, sternly. "Don't speak of that any more!" Thus the subject had ended in the yard. Meanwhile, the passive cause of all this loss still regarded the scene.
"Good heavens! what did you do that for, Creedle?" said Giles, sternly, and jumping up. "'Tis how I do it when they baint here, maister," mildly expostulated Creedle, in an aside audible to all the company. "Well, yes but " replied Giles. He went over to Grace, and hoped none of it had gone into her eye. "Oh no," she said. "Only a sprinkle on my face. It was nothing."
Supper-time came, and with it the hot-baked from the oven, laid on a snowy cloth fresh from the press, and reticulated with folds, as in Flemish "Last Suppers." Creedle and the boy fetched and carried with amazing alacrity, the latter, to mollify his superior and make things pleasant, expressing his admiration of Creedle's cleverness when they were alone.
She could see Giles and Creedle talking together at the back; the charred spar-gad with which the lines had been written lay on the ground beneath the wall. Feeling pretty sure that Winterborne would observe her action, she quickly went up to the wall, rubbed out "lose" and inserted "keep" in its stead. Then she made the best of her way home without looking behind her.
Grammer whispered again to Marty: "Why didn't ye go and try your luck with the rest of the maids?" "I don't believe in it," said Marty, shortly. "Why, half the parish is here the silly hussies should have kept it quiet. I see Mr. Winterborne through the leaves, just come up with Robert Creedle. Marty, we ought to act the part o' Providence sometimes.
All day she had expected Giles to call to inquire how she had got home, or something or other; but he had not come. And he still tantalized her by going athwart and across that orchard opposite. She could see him as she sat. A slight diversion was presently created by Creedle bringing him a letter.
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