"Upon my libin' soul, wot brung him h'yar?
Miss Rob don' wan' him round, nohow.

I done druv him off wunst.

Upon my libin' soul, he's done brung his bag behin' him on de saddle, an' I reckon he's gwine to stay." As Mr Croft dismounted and went into the house, Peggy glowered at him; sundry expressions, sounding very much like odds and ends of imprecations which she had picked up in the course of a short but investigative existence, gurgling from her lips.

"I wish dat ole Miss Keswick kunjer him.

Ef she knew how Miss Rob hate him, she curl he legs up, an' gib him mis'ry spranglin' down he back." The hope of seeing this intruder well "kunjered" by the old lady was the only thing that gave a promise of peace to the mind of Peggy; and though her nature was by no means a social one, she determined to make the acquaintance of some one or other in the house; hoping to find out how Mrs Keswick conducted her conjurations; at what time of day or night they were generally put into operation; and how persons could be brought under their influence.
The breakfast hour in the Keswick house was a variable one.