“Come now, Betty,” I said, when all the
pigs were at it sucking, swilling, munching, guzzling,
thrusting, and ousting, and spilling the food upon
the backs of their brethren (as great men do with their
charity), “come now, Betty, how much longer am
I to wait for your message? Surely I am as good
as a pig.”
“Dunno as thee be, Jan. No straikiness
in thy bakkon. And now I come to think of it,
Jan, thee zed, a wake agone last Vriday, as how I had
got a girt be-ard. Wull ’e stick to that
now, Maister Jan?”
“No, no, Betty, certainly not; I made a mistake
about it. I should have said a becoming mustachio,
such as you may well be proud of.”
“Then thee be a laiar, Jan Ridd. Zay so,
laike a man, lad.”
“Not exactly that, Betty; but I made a great
mistake; and I humbly ask your pardon; and if such
a thing as a crown-piece, Betty”—
“No fai, no fai!” said Betty, however
she put it into her pocket; “now tak my advice,
Jan; thee marry Zally Snowe.”
“Not with all England for her dowry. Oh,
Betty, you know better.”
“Ah’s me! I know much worse, Jan.
Break thy poor mother’s heart it will.
And to think of arl the danger! Dost love Larna
now so much?”
“With all the strength of my heart and soul.
I will have her, or I will die, Betty.”
“Wull. Thee will die in either case.
But it baint for me to argify. And do her love
thee too, Jan?”
“I hope she does, Betty I hope she does.
What do you think about it?”
“Ah, then I may hold my tongue to it. Knaw
what boys and maidens be, as well as I knew young
pegs. I myzell been o’ that zort one taime
every bit so well as you be.” And Betty
held the lanthorn up, and defied me to deny it; and
the light through the horn showed a gleam in her eyes,
such as I had never seer there before. “No
odds, no odds about that,” she continued; “mak
a fool of myzell to spake of it. Arl gone into
churchyard. But it be a lucky foolery for thee,
my boy, I can tull ’ee. For I love to see
the love in thee. Coom’th over me as the
spring do, though I be naigh three score. Now,
Jan, I will tell thee one thing, can’t abear
to zee thee vretting so. Hould thee head down,
same as they pegs do.”
So I bent my head quite close to her; and she whispered
in my ear, “Goo of a marning, thee girt soft.
Her can’t get out of an avening now, her hath
zent word to me, to tull ’ee.”
In the glory of my delight at this, I bestowed upon
Betty a chaste salute, with all the pigs for witnesses;
and she took it not amiss, considering how long she
had been out of practice. But then she fell back,
like a broom on its handle, and stared at me, feigning
anger.
“Oh fai, oh fai! Lunnon impudence, I doubt.
I vear thee hast gone on zadly, Jan.”
AN EARLY MORNING CALL
[Illustration: 280.jpg Illustrated Capital]
