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She was very angry because Marriott, a gentleate, called her the little pole-cat

"Why, you're a pole-cat," he said to her

"I'oes"

She thought about it

"Well, you're--you're----" she began

"I'm what?"

She looked hi hter They loved her

that she was indomitable

"Ah," said Marriott "Only a pole-cat says that"

"Well, I ahter from the men

They loved to tease her

"Well, me little maid," Braithwaite would say to her, "an'

how's th' la, pale piece of her hair

"It's not la back

her offended lock

"Why, what'st ca' it then?"

"It's hair"

"Hair! Wheriver dun they rear that sort?"

"Wheriver dun they?" she asked, in dialect, her curiosity

overco he shouted with joy It was the triumph,