"Never, I won't—and my heart's fixed; an' I be so much in love as a gal can be an' hide it, Cherry."
"I knaw, I knaw. 'Tis Greg Libby you wants," answered the sibyl, who had observed certain hay-makers some hours earlier in the day.
"Ess, I do then, though you'm the awnly living sawl as knaws it."
"Doan't he knaw it?"
"Not a blink of it. He'm a wonnerful, dandified man since he come from Lunnon."
"Be he gwaine to do any more work?"
"Not so long as his clothes bide flam-new, I reckon. Ban't no call for un to. An' I love un very much, an' do truly think he loves me, Cherry. An', in such things, a little comin'-on spirit in the man's like to save the maid much heart-burnin'; an' I minded how you helped she as was Thirza Foster, in the matter of Michael Maybridge, her husband now. 'Tis pity Gregory should bide dumb along of his backward disposition."
"A love drink you're arter! Who believes in all that now?"
"I mind how you made Maybridge speak, whether or no, an' I'll give 'e half-a-crown for same thing what you gived Thirza."
It was growing dusk. Gammer Grepe preserved silence a moment, then rose and lighted a candle.