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nothing you can’t believe o’ them wenches： they’ll set the empty
kettle o’ the fire； and then come an hour after to see if the water
boils。”
“She’s drawin’ for the men too；” said Mr。 Poyser。 “Thee
shouldst ha’ told her to bring our jug up first。”
“Told her？” said Mrs。 Poyser。 “Yes； I might spend all the wind i’
my body； an’ take the bellows too； if I was to tell them gells
everything as their own sharpness wonna tell ’em。 Mr。 Bede； will
you take some vinegar with your lettuce？ Aye you’re i’ the right
not。 It spoils the flavour o’ the chine； to my thinking。 It’s poor
eating where the flavour o’ the meat lies i’ the cruets。 There’s folks
as make bad butter and trusten to the salt t’ hide it。”
Mrs。 Poyser’s attention was here diverted by the appearance of
Molly； carrying a large jug； two small mugs； and four drinking…
cans； all full of ale or small beer—an interesting example of the
prehensile power possessed by the human hand。 Poor Molly’s
mouth was rather wider open than usual； as she walked along with
her eyes fixed on the double cluster of vessels in her hands； quite
innocent of the expression in her mistress’s eye。
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“Molly； I niver knew your equils—to think o’ your poor mother
as is a widow； an’ I took you wi’ as good as no character； an’ the
times an’ times I’ve told you 。 。 。”
Molly had not seen the lightning； and the thunder shook her
nerves the more for the want of that preparation。 With a vague
alarmed sense that she must somehow comport herself differently；
she hastened her step a little towards the far deal table； where she
might set down her cans—caught her foot in her apron； which had
become untied； and fell with a crash and a splash into a pool of
beer； whereupon a tittering explosion from Marty and Tommy；
and a serious “Ello！” from Mr。 Poyser； who saw his draught of ale
unpleasantly deferred。
“There you go！” resumed Mrs。 Poyser； in a cutting tone； as she
rose and went towards the cupboard while Molly began dolefully
to pick up the fragments of pottery。 “It’s what I told you ’ud come；
over and over again； and there’s your month’s wage gone； and
more； to pay for that jug as I’ve had i’ the house this ten year； and
nothing ever happened to ’t before； but the crockery you’ve broke
sin’ here in th’ house you’ve been ’ud make a parson swear—God
forgi’ me for saying so—an’ if it had been boiling wort out o’ the
copper； it ’ud ha’ been the same； and you’d ha’ been scalded and
very like lamed for life； as there’s no knowing but what you will be
some day if you go on； for anybody ’ud think you’d got the St。
Vitus’s Dance； to see the things you’ve throwed down。 It’s a pity
but what the bits was stacked up for you to see； though it’s neither
seeing nor hearing as ’ull make much odds to you—anybody ’ud
think you war case…hardened。”
Poor Molly’s tears were dropping fast by this time； and in her
desperation at the lively movement of the beer…stream towards
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Alick’s legs； she was converting her apron into a mop； while Mrs。
Poyser； opening the cupboard； turned a blighting eye upon her。
“Ah；” she went on； “you’ll do no good wi’ crying an’ making
more wet to wipe up。 It’s all your own wilfulness； as I tell you； for
there’s nobody no call to break anything if they’ll only go the right
way to work。 But wooden folks had need ha’ wooden things t’
handle。 And here must I take the brown…and…white jug； as it’s
niver been used three times this year； and go down i’ the cellar
myself； and belike catch my death； and be laid up wi’ inflammation
。 。 。”
Mrs。 Poyser had turned round from the cupboard with the
brown…and…white jug in her hand； when she caught sight of
something at the other end of the kitchen； perhaps it was because
she was already trembling and nervous that the apparition had so
strong an effect on her； perhaps jug…breaking； like other crimes；
has a contagious influence。 However it was； she stared and started
like a ghost…seer； and the precious brown…and…white jug fell to the
ground； parting for ever with its spout and handle。
“Did ever anybody see the like？” she said； with a suddenly
lowered tone； after a moment’s bewildered glance round the room。
“The jugs are bewitched； I think。 It’s them nasty glazed handles—
they slip o’er the finger like a snail。”
“Why； thee ’st let thy own whip fly i’ thy face；” said her
husband； who had now joined in the laugh of the young ones。
“It’s all very fine to look on and grin；” rejoined Mrs。 Poyser；
“but there’s times when the crockery seems alive an’ flies out o’
your hand like a bird。 It’s like the glass； sometimes； ’ull crack as it
stands。 What is to be broke will be broke； for I never dropped a
thing i’ my life for want o’ holding it； else I should never ha’ kept
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the crockery all these ’ears as I bought at my own wedding。 And
Hetty； are you mad？ Whativer do you mean by coming down i’
that way； and making one think as there’s a ghost a…walking i’ th’
house？”
A new outbreak of laughter； while Mrs。 Poyser was speaking；
was caused； less by her sudden conversion to a fatalistic view of
jug…breaking than by that strange appearance of Hetty； which had
startled her aunt。 The little minx had found a black gown of her
aunt’s； and pinned it close round her neck to look like Dinah’s； had
made her hair as flat as she could； and had tied on one of Dinah’s
high…crowned borderless net caps。 The thought of Dinah’s pale
grave face and mild grey eyes； w