“Well, a’ called for it, sure,” commented Sam.
“Her did,” agreed Bob, “but she was the quietest known girl for miles round those parts, very shy and quiet.”
“A shady lane breeds mud,” said Sam.
“What do you say?—O ah!—mud, yes. But pretty girls both, girls you could get very fond of, skin like apple bloom, and as like as two pinks they were. They had to decide which of them William was to marry.”
“Of course, ah!”
“‘I’ll marry Agnes’—says he.
“‘You’ll not’—says the old man—‘You’ll marry Edie.’
“‘No, I won’t,’—William says—‘it’s Agnes I love and I’ll be married to her or I won’t be married to e’er of ’em.’ All the time Edith sat quiet, dumb as a shovel, never a word, crying a bit; but they do say the young one went on like a ... a young ... Jew.”
“The jezebel!” commented Sam.
“You may say it; but wait, my man, just wait. Another cup of beer. We can’t go back to church until this humbugging rain have stopped.”