“Katy, I can, an’ I’m not layin’ it up against ye, though it was a wicked thing for ye to do—for any one to do. Now, dearie, fetch the wassail.”
Catherine started for the bowl once more, then turned, her black eyes snapping upon him.
“Vavasour, how does it happen that the callin’ is set aside an’ that ye’re really here? Such a thing’s not been in Gwynen in the memory of man”; and Catherine proceeded to give a list of the All-Hallows’-Eve callings that had come inexorably true within the last hundred years.
“I’m not sayin’ how it’s happened, Catherine, but I’m thinkin’ it’s modern times an’ things these days are happenin’ different,—aye, modern times.”
“Good!” sighed Catherine contentedly, “it’s lucky ’tis modern times.”
[The Heretic’s Wife]
“Mother, Mr. Thatcher oversteps himself; any such suggestions should be comin’ from the landlord.” Gabriel puffed out his whiskered cheeks and grew red under his eyes.
“There, father dear, there,” Maggie hastened to soothe him.