“Why, how can I? I must do without it,” saith she.
“Most sweet Helen; sure thou earnest straight out of the Garden of Eden! Dear heart, folks steer not in that quarter now o’ days. Thou comest to me for the gown, and I set down thy name in my books, that thou owest me six angels: and away goest thou with the silk, and turnest forth o’ Sunday as fine as a fiddler.”
“Well—and then?” saith she.
“Then, with Christmas in cometh my bill: and thou must pay the same.”
“But if I have no money?”
“Then I lose six angels.”
“Father, is that honest?” saith Helen.
“If thou hadst no reason to think thou shouldst have the money by Christmas, certainly not, my maid,” he made answer.
“Not honest, Sir!” saith Wat.
“Is it so?” quoth Father.