The deep tones of the trooper's voice were no sooner conveyed to the
ears of the washerwoman, than, turning her head, where she sat directing
the movements of the mare, she put into the discourse at the
first pause.
"Belike, then, good woman, ye're knowing whether or no he's akin to
Beelzeboob," said Betty. "It's Sargeant Hollister who's saying the
same, and no fool is the sargeant, anyway."
"It's a scandalous disparagement" cried Katy, vehemently, "no kinder
soul than Harvey carries a pack; and for a gownd or a tidy apron, he
will never take a king's farthing from a friend. Beelzebub, indeed! For
what would he read the Bible, if he had dealings with the evil spirit?"
"He's an honest divil, anyway; as I was saying before, the guinea was
pure. But then the sargeant thinks him amiss, and it's no want of
l'arning that Mister Hollister has."
"He's a fool!" said Katy tartly. "Harvey might be a man of substance,
were he not so disregardful. How often have I told him, that if he did
nothing but peddle, and would put his gains to use, and get married, so
that things at home could be kept within doors, and leave off his
dealings with the rig'lars, and all incumberments, that he would soon
become an excellent liver. Sergeant Hollister would be glad to hold a
candle to him, indeed!"
"Pooh!" said Betty, in her philosophical way; "ye're no thinking that
Mister Hollister is an officer, and stands next the cornet, in the
troop.
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