I'd rather have it than beer any day."
"Aye, aye," said Mrs. Poyser, reaching a small white basin that stood on
the shelf, and dipping it into the whey-tub, "the smell o' bread's
sweet t' everybody but the baker. The Miss Irwines allays say, 'Oh, Mrs.
Poyser, I envy you your dairy; and I envy you your chickens; and what
a beautiful thing a farm-house is, to be sure!' An' I say, 'Yes; a
farm-house is a fine thing for them as look on, an' don't know the
liftin', an' the stannin', an' the worritin' o' th' inside as belongs
to't.'"
"Why, Mrs. Poyser, you wouldn't like to live anywhere else but in a
farm-house, so well as you manage it," said Adam, taking the basin;
"and there can be nothing to look at pleasanter nor a fine milch cow,
standing up to'ts knees in pasture, and the new milk frothing in the
pail, and the fresh butter ready for market, and the calves, and the
poultry. Here's to your health, and may you allays have strength to look
after your own dairy, and set a pattern t' all the farmers' wives in the
country."
Mrs. Poyser was not to be caught in the weakness of smiling at a
compliment, but a quiet complacency over-spread her face like a stealing
sunbeam, and gave a milder glance than usual to her blue-grey eyes,
as she looked at Adam drinking the whey.
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