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Updated: May 1, 2025
All the women of the household were there, gathered in a tight circle round some absorbing central fact; all were shrieking at the tops of their voices, and the turkey cock in the yard gobbled in response to each shriek. "Ma'am, ma'am!" I heard, "ye'll pull the tail off him!" "Twisht the tink-an now, Bridgie! Twisht it!" "Holy Biddy! the masther'll kill us!"
What the deuce were they at? and what was a "tink-an"? I dragged the filly nearer, and discovered that a hound puppy was the central point of the tumult, and was being contended for, like the body of Moses, by Miss Trinder and Bridgie the parlour-maid.
I gave the filly to one of the audience, and took Bridgie's place at the "tink-an". Miss Trinder and I put our backs into it, and suddenly I found myself flat on mine, with the "tink-an" grasped in both hands above my head. A composite whoop of triumph rose from the spectators, and the filly rose with it.
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