"Kiss me," he said suddenly, "an' kiss me slow while I take my full of it. Theer's blood 'pon your lips! You've bited 'em. What's fretted 'e this marnin'? Not love of me, I warn 'e?"
"'Twas, then—just love of you, Greg; an' fear that the fallin' out of cruel things might make 'e turn away from me."
He patted her cheek and stroked it; then her neck; and then her plump bosom.
"So butivul an' fat as a pattridge you be! An' I'm sure I love 'e tremenjous; an' nothin' shall never part us if you say so."
"Then all my tears was vain, an'—an' I'll grow a better woman an' say longer prayers hencefarrard—for thanksgivings 'cause I've got 'e."
"'Tis a gude match for you, Sally; an' I do trust as you'll never make me to regret I spoke."
"Never, never; an' you'll never love nobody else, will 'e?"
"Not so long as you'm a gude wife an' a towser to work. My mind was always temperate 'an sober towards petticoats, as be well knawn."
"Oh, I could sing an' dance for sheer joy, I could! An' so chapfallen just afore you comed. But what's a faither to a lover—'specially such a sour faither as mine?"
"Doan't you quarrel wi' Cramphorn, however," said Gregory; "he'm the last man as I'd have you fall out with."