Australian Tales - Setis

Blained if I know what I was going to say at all. I'm dazed, sure
enough!” stammered poor Jonathan, colouring to the tip of his ears, and
shaking like a frost-bitten sailor: then added in an excited tone, “Dos't
thee loike artichokes, lass?”
“I don't know,” replied Phoebe, timidly, shrinking back a few paces, as
the idea that her lover was drunk, filled her mind with disgust and
surprise; for she had a natural horror of drunkards; and she had
previously entertained the belief that Jonathan was a thoroughly sober
man; so she replied, rather sharply, “that she did not know anything
about artichokes;” then hurriedly withdrew to the house, and whispered
her suspicions to her father, while her eyes filled with tears.
“Drunk, girl!” exclaimed Mr. Skimmer with warmth. “Pooh! nonsense!
The lad is as sober as old Daisy in the shed yonder. Hasn't he been
working away there all the afternoon, as if he were earning double
wages, while I have been sitting beside him? Not a drop of anything
stronger than skim milk has he tasted since he came here; that I'll
warrant. Drunk indeed! what next will you fancy, girl?”
“Well then, I'm afraid he is crazy, father,” said poor Phoebe, wiping
her eyes with her little white apron.
“Bother you, girl! I shall believe you are downright mad directly,” said
Mr. Skimmer, pettishly. “The lad is hungry, that's what is the matter with
him, I'll be bound; so go and get the supper ready, as soon as you can.”
Then, putting on his hat, he went into the garden, where Jonathan was
busy giving the finishing rake to the flower-beds; and having in a
measure recovered from the terrible perturbation which his bungling
failure and the sudden flight of Phoebe had caused him, he looked
tolerably collected.
“Well, mate, are you pretty nearly knocked up?” asked Mr. Skimmer,
at the same time looking very closely at him.
“Not a bit, not a bit, measter. This ground is as easy to work as a sandy
flat, only there be's a plaguey lot of weeds and couch-grass in it, and it
wants a few barrowfuls of dung.”
“Crankey, eh! humph! He's as sensible as a judge's clerk, every bit,”
muttered Mr. Skimmer to himself. Then, addressing Jonathan, he added,
“Come inside, mate, and get a wash before supper. You've done a day's
work in four or five hours, that you have. There, that'll do; heave your
rake down, and come along; I smell eggs and bacon, and hot scons.”
Without farther pressing, Jonathan put away his tools and scraped his
boots, and in a few minutes more he was seated at the supper table, with
his cleanly-washed face as rubicund as an earthenware flowerpot.
Chapter III.
HAD Jonathan been aware of the suspicion which Phoebe entertained