"Why, of course I'm going. 'Tis my only 'out' for the year."
"They'll fancy 'tis the end of the world up at 'Duchy Inn' if I come along and take my place at the ordinary."
"No, they won't: they'll be a deal too busy to trouble about you. You go, master, and you'll stand a lot better in your own eyes for going. 'Twill be a great adventure in your life. You'm a deal too much up on the hill there, along with the foxes and other wild things; and you know it."
"I haven't the cut for a revel. 'Tis nonsense to think of my going up."
"To think of it can't do no harm, anyway," she said. "You think and think, and you'll find 'tis your duty as a sensible creature to go."
"Not my duty. 'Twill hurt none if I stay away."
"'Twill hurt your pocket. You know right well 'tis the proper thing that you go. And if you do, I'll ax for a fairing. And if you get me one, I'll get you one."
"You can put off old age like a garment and be a girl again," he said.
"So I can, then. 'Tis your brother sets that wise fashion, not you. He's as lively as a kitten when there's a frolic in the air. And so be I—though all sixty-five. You should have seen me at giglet market in my youth!"
He did not answer; but the next morning he appeared shamefaced and clad for the fair.