XIII

There, pale t’ guilp off, un’ then ye’ll hae done wi’ ’t. Bang, bang. It’s a mercy t’ bothom isn’t deaved out!” It was rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a mug; affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety; assuring me, repeatedly, that “the barn was every bit as good” as I, “and every bit as wollsome,” and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited. Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and glowered up at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug. “I shall have my supper in another room,” I said. “Have you no place you call a parlour?” “ Parlour! ” he echoed, sneeringly, “ parlour! Nay, we’ve noa parlours . If yah dunnut loike wer company, there’s maister’s; un’ if yah dunnut loike maister, there’s us.” “Then I shall go upstairs,” I answered; “show me a chamber.” I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent: we mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into the apartments we passed. “Here’s a rahm,” he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on hinges. “It’s weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in.