I well-nigh do wish I had not writ down that same o’ Friday last. Howbeit, there is no penalty against tearing out o’ leaves: and that must I do, if need be. Meanwhile, I will go right forward with my chronicling.
I did verily think I saw Sir Edwin part-way up the hill behind us o’ Saturday even: but o’ Sunday he was not in church, for I looked for him. I reckon he must have left this vicinage, or he should scarce run the risk of a twenty pound fine (the penalty per month for non-attendance at the parish church), without he be fairly a-rolling in riches, as his gold chain looked not unlike.
Thank goodness, Edith hath forgot to say aught to Mother, and ’tis not like she shall think on now.
Selwick Hall, November ye xii.
Mother bid me, this morrow, carry a basket of eggs and a spice-cake (the northern name for a plum-cake) to old Jack. They were ducks’ eggs, for I had told her what Jack said the last time we visited him. I bade Edith go with me (Note 4), but she would not, the day being somewhat foul. I did never see a maid so unwilling to mire her shoes as our Edith. So I all alone up to Jack Benn’s: which saw me from his hut door, and gave me his customary courteous welcome.
“There’s a woman a-coming!” quoth he. “Get away wi’ ye! I hate women.”
“Nay, Jack,” said I; “thou alway savest me, as thou wist. Here be eggs for thee—ducks’, every one: and a spice-cake, which I know thou lovest.”
“I love nought so much as I hate women,” saith he. But he took the cake and the eggs off me, notwithstanding. “They’re fleshly folk, is women,” quoth old Jack.
“Nay, what signifiest?” said I. “Women have no more flesh than men, I reckon.”
“Mistress Milisent, does thou wit what Paul says to th’ Romans, touching th’ flesh and th’ spirit?”