"You want to see Katrinka—is that it?" he said.
"Well, sir, her do have a good hand at griddle-cakes, and I ha'n't tasted ne'er a one for three weeks."
"'Tis cupboard love, eh, Sherry?"
"The truth on't is, Master Harry, I be a-thinken o' old gaffer at home. He's had a deal of trouble wi' maids and housekeepers; can't get ne'er a one to cook his bacon to his mind, and besides has a sweet tooth for griddle-cakes. Katrinka be a rare buxom wench; not a beauty, sure, though handsome is as handsome doos; and when I found out her tidy ways and light hand wi' the kickshawses—well, says I, she be the right maid to keep old feyther o' mine above-ground for another ten year."
"Oh! and have you put the matter to Katrinka?"
"There's the rub, sir. Her be in the main willen, but there's a worm in th' apple. The truth on't is, sir, her have high notions."
"Indeed! She wants to be something better than a nurse-cook, eh?"
"Not zackly that, sir; her notions be husband high, sir; her won't make griddle-cakes for feyther o' mine not unless her be his darter, which is a backward way o' sayen, marry me."
"That's terrible, Sherry."
"It med be wuss, Master Harry. I ha'n't no fears myself, but 'tis old feyther I be thinken on. 'Ee see, I'm his boy; though I be forty-five by nature, to his old aged life I be but a younker yet; and I be afeard he'd think me a forrard youth did I venture a word about marryen."