“But I was not in a rage.  I meant every word I said, but I want to apologize for the rude way in which I said it, as I had no right to speak so to my elders.  And I want to tell you that you need not fear me running away with Peter, even supposing he should honour me with his affections, as I am engaged to another man.”

“By dad, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed, with nothing but curiosity on his wrinkled dried tobacco-leaf-looking face.  He expressed no resentment on account of my behaviour to him.

“Are ye to be married soon?  Has he got any prawperty?  Who is he?  I suppose he’s respectable.  Ye’re very young.”

“Yes; he is renowned for respectability, but I am not going to marry him till I am twenty-one.  He is poor, but has good prospects.  You must promise me not to tell anyone, as I wish it kept a secret, and only mention it to you so that you need not be disturbed about Peter.”

He assured me that he would keep the secret, and I knew I could rely on his word.  He was greatly perturbed that my intended was poor.

“Never ye marry a man widout a bit er prawperty, me gu-r-r-r-l.  Take my advice—­the divil’s in a poor match, no matter how good the man may be.  Don’t ye he in a hurry; ye’re personable enough in yer way, and there’s as good fish in the seas as ever come out of ’em.  Yer very small; I admire a good lump of a woman meself—­but don’t ye lose heart.  I’ve heerd some men say they like little girls, but, as I said, I like a good lump of a woman meself.”

“And you’ve got a good lump of a squaw,” I thought to myself.

Do not mistake me.  I do not for an instant fancy myself above the M’Swats.  Quite the reverse; they are much superior to me.  Mr M’Swat was upright and clean in his morals, and in his little sphere was as sensible and kind a man as one could wish for.  Mrs M’Swat was faithful to him, contented and good-natured, and bore uncomplainingly, year after year, that most cruelly agonising of human duties—­childbirth, and did more for her nation and her Maker than I will ever be noble enough to do.

But I could not help it that their life was warping my very soul.  Nature fashions us all; we have no voice in the matter, and I could not change my organisation to one which would find sufficient sustenance in the mental atmosphere of Barney’s Gap.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ta-Ta to Barney’s Gap

It chanced at last, as June gave place to July and July to August, that I could bear it no longer.  I would go away even if I had to walk, and what I would do I did not know or care, my one idea being to leave Barney’s Gap far and far behind.  One evening I got a lot of letters from my little brothers and sisters at home.  I fretted over them a good deal, and put them under my pillow; and as I had not slept for nights, and was feeling weak and queer, I laid my head upon them to rest a little before going out to get the tea ready.  The next thing I knew was that Mrs M’Swat was shaking me vigorously with one hand, holding a flaring candle in the other, and saying: