“An’ a bonny makeshift an’ all, for a man as wants a wife!”
“Other folks do with them all right.”
“Well, I want nowt wi’ ’em, so that’s flat.”
“But you’ll have to do summat o’ the sort,” she protested angrily, troubled and also afraid. Her own particular cleft stick was becoming plainer with every minute that passed. “You’ll have to have somebody about the place, and it’s fair wicked to talk o’ missing the farm. What, you’ve been wanting a spot of your own for long enough, I’m sure, and now you can do what’s right by your dad at the same time.”
“You wouldn’t ha’ minded him about the house? If things was fixed, I’m meaning ... if we were wed....”
“Mind an old body settin’ on the hearth?” She turned to face him again with wonder in her eyes. “Nay, but you know me better than that by a deal! I’d ha’ been glad enough to see to him, that I would. I’ve always been rarely fond o’ Fiddlin’ Kit.”
“Ay, well, then,” Thomas insisted, “what’s in the road?”
“I’ve tell’t you what’s in the road. I can’t frame to make up my mind.”
“Seems to me it’s an easy enough job,” he answered her gloomily, staring at his feet, and she laughed in spite of her anger and dismay.
“Happen it is for some folk, but not me.... Hark ye! Show a bit o’ sense, do now,” she coaxed. “You go off to your farm, and likely I’ll throw my shoe after you, even yet. I reckon you’ll ha’ forgot all about me, by then.”