“Aye, that it be, measter.”
“But what say ee to a dance?” said Ashbrook.
“There, I knew all your pretty girls would like to dance. Tell ’em to come in, some of ee.”
Half a dozen scampered off with the glad tidings, and in a few minutes returned with three men, each of whom carried something wrapped up in green baize beneath his arm.
“I want my call answered first, though,” said old Nat, “and the thatcher he aint no true friend o’ mine, so I calls on——”
“Be quiet, you flabbergullion, talking like that ’ere, afore measter.”
“He knows as much about civility as a fly does of a gaiter strap,” said the indignant Mrs. Doughty.
“There, when he gets into that drunken guret it aint no yoose talkin’ to him. If the angel Gibbriel commed down he’d try and push him out of the way. I never seed such an obstinate fellow in all my born days.”
“I intend to ha’ my call,” cried Nat, “and so I calls on Kitty Morgan.”
“I don’t know any songs,” said Kitty.”