The knitting fell from my mother’s hand, the pipe from my father’s They stared at Mary and at me.
“So that’s what’s ailed yo’ this three week back. Herb–tea might well be wasted on yo’,” at length my mother managed to gasp.
“That wer’ just th’ complaint we were suffering fra, wern’t it, Ben?”
“An’ beyond any physic aw ever heard on,” I said. “But tha seems to ha’ fun a cure.”
“But you won’t have him,” said Faith eagerly. “Oh! the wretched plotter. Say you refused, Mary?”
“A varmint not fit to be touched wi’ a pair o’ tongs,” remarked my mother.
“But to save Ben here?” asked Mary, maliciously.
And my parents looked at each other. It was a dilemma’s horns.
“Don’t look worried, ma’am,” said Faith. “Mary’s only plaguing us. She has found a way out, it’s plain to see. She wouldn’t look as she does if she hadn’t.”
“Then till beseems her to be fleyin’ her elders out o’ their wits an’ mi heart goin’ pit–a–pat that fast at aw may be took any minnit,” said my mother.