“Why, they’re men, just like other folks!” was Rachel’s contribution.
“Did you think they’d have horns and tails?” said Temperance.
“Well, nay, not justly that,” answered Rachel: “but I reckoned they’d ha’ looked a bit more like wastrels (scoundrels). Yon lad’s none so bad-looking as many a man you may meet i’ th’ street. And th’ owd un’s meterly (middling), too. Happen (perhaps) they aren’t any o’ the worst.”
“Why, maid,” said the man who had first spoken, “that’s Father Garnet, the head of all the Jesuits in this country; there isn’t a craftier fox in all England than he.”
“Well, I shouldn’t ha’ thought it,” saith Rachel.
“Faces tell not alway truth,” said Temperance.
“He’s good eyes, though,” remarked Mrs Abbott, “though they be a bit heavy, as though he’d had a poor night’s rest.”
“He’s one o’ them long, narrow faces,” said the man; “I never trust such. And a long nose, too—just like a fox.”
“Ay, I’ll be bound he’s a fause (cunning) un,” commented Rachel.
“His mouth’s the worst thing about him,” said Temperance.