“Don’t believe one cussed word of it,” said he.  “Mr. Haverley ain’t the man to do that sort of thing without makin’ some of his ’rangements p’int that way, an’ none of his ’rangements do p’int that way.  If he’d been goin’ to git married, he’d told me, you bet, an’ we’d laid out the farm work more suitable for a weddin’ than it is laid out.  I ain’t goin’ to believe no word about no weddin’ till I git it from somebody better nor Miss Panney.  If he was goin’ to marry anybody, he’d be more like to marry that purty little Miss Drane.  She’s right here on the spot, an’ she ain’t pizen proud like them Bannisters.  She’s as nice as cake, an’ not stuck up a bit.  Bless my soul!  She don’t know one thing about nothin’.”

“You’re very much mistaken, Michael,” exclaimed La Fleur.  “She is very well educated, and has been sent to the best schools.”

“Oh, I don’t mean school larnin’,” said Mike; “I mean ‘bout cows an’ chickens.  She’ll come here when I’m milkin’, an’ ask me things about the critters an’ craps that I knowed when I was a baby.  I reckon she’s the kind of a lady that knows all about what’s in her line, an’ don’t know nothin’ ’bout what’s not in her line.  That’s the kind of young lady I like.  No spyin’ around to see what’s been did, an’ what’s hain’t been did.  I’ve lived with them Bannisters.”

La Fleur gazed reflectively upon the ground.

“I never thought of it before,” she said, “but Miss Cicely would make a very good wife for a gentleman like Mr. Haverley.  But that’s neither here nor there, and none of our business, Michael.  But if you hear anything more about this marriage between Mr. Haverley and Miss Bannister, I wish you’d come and tell me.  I’ve had a deal of curiosity to know if that old lady’s been trying to make a fool of me.  It isn’t of any consequence, but it is natural to have a curiosity about such things, and I shall be very thankful to you if you will bring me any news that you may get.  And when you come, Michael, you may be sure that you will not go away hungry, be it daytime or night.”

“Oh, I’ll come along, you bet,” said Mike, “an’ I am much obleeged to you, Mrs. Flower, for this here pie.”

When the good cook had gone to speak with Mrs. Drane, Mike repaired to the woodshed, where, picking up an axe, he stood for some moments regarding a short, knotty log on end in front of him.  His blood flowed angrily.

“Marry that there Bannister girl,” he said to himself.  “A pretty piece of business if that family was to come here with their money an’ their come-up-ence.  They’d turn everythin’ upside down on this place.  No use for ramshackle farmin’ they’d have, an’ no use for me, nuther, with their top boots an’ stovepipe hats.”

Mike had been discharged from the Bannisters’ service because of his unwillingness to pay any attention to his personal appearance.

“If that durned Miss Panney,” he continued, “keeps on tellin’ that to the people, things will be a cussed sight worse than me a livin’ here without decent vittles, an’ Phoebe a boardin’ that minister that ain’t paid no board yit.  Blast them all, I say.”  And with that he lifted up his axe and brought it down on the end of the upturned log with such force that it split into two jagged portions.