the best order: Miss Abbey standing at the half door of the bar, to hold a ceremony of review and dismissal. All wished Miss Abbey good night and Miss Abbey wished good night to all, except Riderhood. The sapient potboy, looking on officially, then had the conviction borne in upon his soul, that the man was evermore outcast and excommunicate from the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters.
“You Bob Gliddery,” said Miss Abbey to this potboy, “run round to Hexam’s and tell his daughter Lizzie that I want to speak to her.”
With exemplary swiftness Bob Gliddery departed, and returned. Lizzie, following him, arrived as one of the two female domestics of the Fellowship Porters arranged on the snug little table by the bar fire, Miss Potterson’s supper of hot sausages and mashed potatoes.
“Come in and sit ye down, girl,” said Miss Abbey. “Can you eat a bit?”
“No thank you, Miss. I have had my supper.”
“I have had mine too, I think,” said Miss Abbey, pushing away the untasted dish, “and more than enough of it. I am put out, Lizzie.”
“I am very sorry for it, Miss.”
“Then why, in the name of Goodness,” quoth Miss Abbey, sharply, “do you do it?”
“ I do it, Miss!”
“There, there. Don’t look astonished. I ought to have begun with a word of explanation, but it’s my way to make shortcuts at things. I always was a pepperer. You Bob Gliddery there, put the chain upon the door and get ye down to your supper.”