"What a terrible coorious thing as me and you should both be bound out along like this--on the very same day too!" he said.
"So 'tis then, and I hope you're well. Us haven't met this longful time."
"I was coming over one Sunday this summer," he declared; "but now will do just so well. I be going out to Vartuous Lady Mine to spend the day along with my brother James and his wife. You might not have heard me tell much about him, perhaps? I've took a day off--by permission, of course--and I'm carrying 'em a gift, because they'm not very well-to-do, I'm sorry to say."
"I'm going to Buckland Monachorum for David."
"Well, I never! What could have falled out better? I very nearly drove by you; because I said to myself, 'Perhaps it might be too pushing in me to offer to give her a lift.' But I'm very glad I didn't, and I hope you'll accept of a seat till I leave your road. 'Tis a fainty sort of day, with thunder offering, in my opinion."
"Thank you, I should be very glad if you've got room."
"Room enough. I'm taking my brother half a pig as we killed last week, and his wife a bunch of they white Mary lilies, what grow to a miracle in our garden. People stop and stare at 'em. And if you'll sit alongside me--if it isn't making too bold--"
She ascended and they proceeded together.
"There'll be a thunderstorm afore long, as you say," she remarked.
"I quite agree. And how be you faring? You'm looking purty middling; and I be purty middling, and so's my mother, thank God, though she was into her seventy-fourth year last month."