It is the Saturday evening meal, and after some rough banter and sparring between the servants, the voice of a young ploughman is heard in imperious command, “Awa’ an’ brush ma buits!”
We pause breathless. Will she answer him in the same tone? Or will she obey? With apparent meekness and without a word, she lift his rough boots and carries them into the back regions where repose the blacking brushes. She is not a meek creature, by any means, but sex feeling is so strong in her at the age of 18 that I shouldn’t be surprised to see her, later, kneeling and tying the whangs of those same boots while the wearer leant back in his chair and lit his pipe.
If he were a timid and loving swain, she would very likely order him about in the most selfish and heartless fashion. But he is the imperious male, arrogantly conscious of his great importance in the eyes of the young maidens, and he takes his full meed of their homage.
He was discovered one evening sitting before the kitchen fire, one coarse bare foot on the knee of each lass, and they were paring his corns for him! One searches one’s memory in vain for a similar attitude of mind towards the other sex at the most youthful and susceptible age. After all, there is a great deal in breeding.