Dame Margery peeped into the pot, and
saw that it was half full; then she could contain herself no longer.
"Hey-day, neighbor!" cried she, "here be pretty doings, truly! Out upon
thee, to go scraping good luck and full measure off of other folks'
butter!"
When the little man in green heard the dame speak to him, he was so
amazed that he nearly dropped his wooden scraper. "Why, Dame Margery!
can you see me then?"
"Aye, marry can I! And what you are about doing also; out upon you, say
I!"
"And did you not rub your eyes with the red salve then?" said the little
man.
"One eye, yes, but one eye, no," said the dame, slyly.
"Which eye do you see me with?" said he.
"With this eye, gossip, and very clearly, I would have you know," and
she pointed to her right eye.
Then the little man swelled out his cheeks until they were like two
little brown dumplings. Puff! he blew a breath into the good dame's eye.
Puff! he blew, and if the dame's eye had been a candle, the light of it
could not have gone out sooner.
The dame felt no smart, but she might wink and wink, and wink again, but
she would never wink sight into the eye upon which the little man had
blown his breath, for it was blind as the stone wall back of the mill,
where Tom the tinker kissed the miller's daughter.
Dame Margery Twist never greatly missed the sight of that eye; but all
the same, I would give both of mine for it.
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