“Why does he do that when he walks?”

“'E canna 'elp 'isself, Duckie, it's th' make o' th' fellow.”

She thought about it, then she laughed nervously.

And then she bethought herself, her cheeks flushed, and she cried:

“He's a horrid man.”

“Nay, he's non horrid; he canna help it if he wor struck that road.”

But when poor Nat came wambling in again, she slid away. And she would not eat his nuts, if the men bought them for her. And when the farmers gambled at dominoes for them, she was angry.

“They are dirty-man's nuts,” she cried.