care to come. 'Tis a starve-acre place. Corn and swedes are all they grow. Though I be here myself, I feel 'tis a pity for such as you to come.'
'But you used to be as good a dairywoman as I.'
'Yes; but I've got out o' that since I took to drink. Lord, that's the only happiness I've got now. If you engage, you'll be set swede-hacking. That's what I am doing; but you won't like it.'
'Oh—anything! Will you speak for me?'
'You will do better by speaking for yourself.'
'Very well. Now, Marian, remember—nothing about him, if I get the place. I don't wish to bring his name down to the dirt.'
Marian, who was really a trustworthy girl, though of coarser grain than Tess, promised anything she asked.
'This is pay-night,' she said, 'and if you were to come with me you would know at once. I be real sorry that you are not happy; but 'tis because he's away, I know. You couldn't be unhappy if he were here, even if he gave you no money—even if he used you like a drudge.'
