"He'll be of use to me, David. I should miss him cruel now."
"God send you don't bring up the childer so, when they come, Madge."
"No childer of yours will ever be spoilt," she said.
"I hope not. And I hope they don't prove of wayward nature; for that sort's a thorn in the parent's side. Take Dorcas now--so different to the rest of us as you can think. Light-minded and a chatterer--colour and mind both different. I hope as I'll never have a red child, Madge."
"I'm very fond of Dorcas. She's the happiest of you all, anyway--light-minded or not. Only her father sees her good points. I don't think, David, that you rate her high enough."
"I know her very well--light-minded and a laugher," he repeated. "And now there's that insolent chap, Screech, after her; and he had the cheek to talk to faither and mother about it, and offer to take her--a beggarly man, with none to say a good word for him--a man that have lived on his widowed mother all his days, and haven't even got regular work, but picks up an uneven living where he can."
"What did your father answer?"
"Sent him away with a flea in his ear! There was a few high words, and then I seed my gentleman marching off across Ringmoor, and Dorcas with her apron to her eyes. 'Better bide single all your days than marry an out-at-elbows good-for-nought like that,' I told her; but, of course, she knowed better, and said he was all he should be, and that her life would be gall and wormwood without him."
"Your father's not one to be flouted."
"He is not; and Dorcas knows it very well. Us shan't hear no more about the chap."