“That’s a good lass,” she said. “Eh, but it’s a dark day; they’ll none see a white horse a mile off to-night.” (Note 1.)
“They’d have better e’en nor me to see it any night,” said Charity, breaking the eggs into the pan.
“Hearken to th’ lad!” said Rachel. “Eh, it’s gradely (excellent, exactly right) music, is that!”
“He sings well, does Mestur ’Ans.”
The words were audible now, as the singer unlatched the gate, and turned into the garden.
“And in the presence of my foes
My table Thou shalt spread:
Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup,
And eke anoint mine head.
“Through all my life Thy favour is
So frankly showed to me,
That in Thy house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.”
Hans lifted the latch and came into the kitchen.
“Here’s a clean floor, Rachel! Tarry a minute, while I pluck off my shoes, and I will run across in my stocking-feet. It shall be ‘February Fill-dyke,’ methinks, ere the day break.”
“He’s as good as my Lady and Mrs Edith, for not making work,” said Charity as Hans disappeared.
“I would we could set him i’ th’ garden, and have a crop on him,” responded Rachel. “He’s th’ only man I ever knew that ’d think for a woman.”