“Yo cannot tell, Ben, how my heart warms to Mary and to you, Ben, for Mary’s sake, and to all that’s kin to her, even to the third and fourth generation,” he added, after a pause, to make it more solemn and convincing like.
“Aw’m sure we’re much obliged to you,” I said; “but yo’n a queer way o’ showing your liking.”
“Yo mean leaving her when Long Tom was so unmannerly. It isn’t like thee, Ben, to bear malice nor to cast up things in a friend’s face. Let byegones be byegones. Aw know aw’m not a warrior, Ben. Aw’st never set up to be a man o’ wrath. We’n all our failings, Ben, an’ feightin’s noan my vocation, that’s flat.”
“Well, say no more about it,” I said. “Let’s talk o’ summot else. It’s lucky for Mary she’s got somebody to stick up for her that’ll noan turn tail an’ leave her to do her own feightin’.”
“Meaning thissen, Ben; aw heard about th’ setting down tha gave Long Tom.”
“Nay, aw weren’t thinking o’ missen,” I said, “tho’ yo’ may count me in. But it’s no business o’ thine. Talk o’ summot else, aw say.”
“But it is a concern o’ mine, Ben. It touches me quick does ought ’at touches Mary. How would ta’ like me for a cousin–i’–law?”
“A what?” I said.
“A cousin–i’–law. Aw reckon that’s what aw should be if aw wed Mary.”
“Thee wed Mary!” I cried, half vexed but tickled withal “Thee! Why, Ben, lad, if aw know ought of a woman she wouldn’t look th’ side o’ th’ road tha’rt on. Besides she’s noan for thee, Ben.”