Patience then wrote about two hundred words of a story, after which Mrs. W. inquired of Mr. C:
“Don’t you ever try to write on the board?” To which he replied facetiously, “No, I’m too dignified.”
Patience.—“Yea, he smirketh unto swine and kicketh the nobles.”
Then seeming to feel that the visitors were wanting something more personal than the “Tale” she said:
“Alawk, they be ahungered, and did weave a bit. Then hark. Here be.
“What think ye, man? They do pucker much o’er the word o’ me, and spat forth that thou dost eat and smack o’ liking. Yea, but hark! Who shed drop for Him but one o’ His, yea, the Son o’ Him? Think ye this abe the pack o’ me? Nay, and thou and thou and thou shalt shed drops in loving for the pack, for it be o’ Him. Now shall I to sing:
How doth the Mise-man greed,
And lay unto his store,
And seek him out the pence of Earth,
Wherein the hearts do rust?