this man what it meant. He found he was speaking to the night-watchman, who said his business was to ring the bell, first an hour before sunrise, then half an hour later, and lastly when the sun appeared.
“So you’re to be groom?” added the watchman. “I wouldn’t swop my job for yours.”
“No?” said Tom.
“Not me! ’Cause why? I’m on all night, but off all day, so I see less of the coves than any other blessed man on the place. Now you’ll see more of ’em; and Lord help you if you trot out a lame nag or a piece of harness the old cove can’t see his ugly mug in! I wouldn’t be in your shirt for something; it’ll be stickin’ to your back by this day week!”
Tom was returning to his room, when a sash was softly raised in the main building, and there was Peggy at an outer window, in an inky shower-bath of pitch-black hair. She beckoned him with her finger, but transferred it swiftly to her lips.
“You did well! you did well!” she whispered. “I was in the holy terror lest you answered Mr. Nat; if you’d done that—”
She shuddered and shut her lips.
“Well, what if I had?” said Tom, beginning to feel sorry he had not.
“Niver ask me!” she returned. “Only bear in mind that what they’ll call ‘insolence’ is a crime out here. Give ’em cheek, an’ it’s twenty-five or fifty—an’ now I’ve tould ye. ’Tis well ye should know. There’s some poor feller from here gets it ivery Monday as iver is. But you mustn’t; so niver cheek ’em, me dear, and niver come near me kitchen anny more. Sure it’d be the dith of a young gintleman like you!”
