Linda felt greatly inclined to put down her hoe and run into the house; but that would be so ridiculous. She hoed on in silence, with a very displeased colour on her cheek.
'I see all yar people at the bee: yar too high yarself to go to them kind'er meetings, I reckon, Miss? Wal, I like that. I like pride. Th' ole woman said always, so did Uncle Zack, "Nim, yar above yar means; yar only fit for a Britisher gentleman," they did, I guess!'
'The sun is getting so hot,' quoth Miss Wynn, laying down her hoe.
'I reckon I ain't agoin' to have come down from Davidson's to here to speak to you, Miss,' and Nim vaulted over the fence, 'an' let you slip through my fingers that way. Uncle Zack said he'd speak to the ole feller up at the bee, an' bade me make tracks an' speak to you, Miss. He's agoin' to foreclose the mortgage, he is.'
'What, on Daisy Burn?' Linda was immensely relieved for the moment.
''Tain't on nothen' else, I guess. 'Tis an elegant farm--ain't it?'
'Cannot your father wait for his money--even a little time? Captain Armytage would surely pay in the long run; or his son would'--
'But s'pose we don't want 'em to pay? S'pose we wants the farm, and house, and fixins, and all, for a new-married pair to set up, Miss?'
'I don't think you should allow anything to interfere with what is just and merciful,' said Miss Wynn, with a strong effort. Her tormentor stood on the path between her and the house.
'S'pose I said they wanted that new-married pair to be you an' me, Miss?'
The audacity of the speech nearly took away her breath, and sent the blood in violent crimson over her face and throat. 'Let me pass, sir,' was her only answer, most haughtily spoken.
'Uncle Zack's a rich man,' pleaded his son. 'He's always been an ole 'coon, with a fine nest of cash at his back. It's in a New York bank, 'vested in shares. He's promised me the best part of it, an' the store into the bargain. You'll be a fool if you say "No," I guess.'
Here he was seized from behind by the throat, and hurled round heavily to the ground.
'Why, then, you spalpeen of an owdacious vagabone, it's well but I smash every bone in yer skin. Of all the impudence I ever heerd in my whole life, you bate it out, clear and clane! O, murther, if I could only give you the batin' I'd like, only maybe the master 'ud be vexed!' And Mr. Callaghan danced round his victim, wielding a terrible shillelagh.