“That’s right!” saith Madge, with a comforted look, and laying of her head back on her pillows. “It would be sore to get right up to th’ gate, and then an angel as one didn’t know just put his head forth, and say, ‘Th’ Master says ’tis too soon, Madge: thou must not come in yet. Thou’lt have to walk a bit outside.’ Eh, but I wouldn’t like yon!”
“He’ll not leave thee outside, I reckon,” saith Aunt Joyce.
“Eh, I hope not!” quoth Madge, as regretfully. “I do want to see Him so. I’d like to see if He looks rested like after all He bare for a poor daft maid. And I want to know if them bad places is all healed up in His hands and feet, and hurt Him no more now. I’d like to see for myself, ye ken.”
“Ay, Madge, they’re healed long ago,” saith Isaac.
“Well, I count so,” saith she, “for ’tis a parcel o’ Sundays since first time thou told me of ’em: still, I’d like to see for myself.”
“Thou’lt see for thyself,” saith Isaac. “Th’ Lord’s just th’ same up yonder that He were down here.”
“Well, I reckon so,” quoth Madge, in a tone of wonder. “Amn’t I th’ same maid up at th’ Hall as I am here?”
“Ay, but I mean He’s as good as ever He were,” Isaac makes answer. “He were right good, He were, to yon poor gaumering (silly) Thomas,—eh, but he were a troublesome chap, was Thomas! He said he wouldn’t believe it were th’ Lord without he stuck his hand right into th’ bad place of His side. He were a hard one to deal wi’, was yon Thomas.”
“Did He let him stick it in?” saith Madge, opening her eyes.
“Yea, He told him to come and stick’t in, if he could not believe without: but he mun have been a dizard (foolish man), that he couldn’t—that’s what I think,” quoth old Isaac.