that side of the butter where it was touched.

His speech, the “for her”, penetrated slowly into the foreign woman and angered Tilly.

“Vicar has his butter fra Brown's by rights,” said the insuppressible servant-woman. “We s'll be churnin' to-morrow mornin' first thing.”

“Yes” — the long-drawn foreign yes — ”yes,” said the Polish woman, “I went to Mrs. Brown's.

She hasn't any more.”

Tilly bridled her head, bursting to say that, according to the etiquette of people who bought butter, it was no sort of manners whatever coming to a place cool as you like and knocking at the front door asking for a pound as