“Well, then, whoy doan’t ’ee up an’ tell ’er so, wi’out me a-doin’ it fur ’ee. You be sweet on ’er, oi s’pose?”
“Monstrous so!”
“Well, then, whoy caan’t ’ee tell ’er summat about it? Ye caan’t expect oi tu du it fur ’ee arl the toime. ’Ere you’ve stood a-lookin’ an’ a-starin’ an’ so silent as a turmut! That bean’t no waay tu win a wench—no! Lord, oi were different in my young days; oi knawed the waay tu go a-wooin’! An’ oi ain’t forgot yet, though I be such a ol’, aged soul!”
“Then perhaps you will help me, now and then?” Sir John suggested.
“Whoy, sence you ax me so sensible an’ modest-loike, oi dunno as oi wun’t. For, if you bean’t much to look at, you be batter’n some, an’ she moight du worse.”
“It is possible!” sighed Sir John.
“So oi dunno as oi wun’t put in a word for ’ee noo an’ then wi’ the lass. But moind ye if oi win ’er for ’ee an’ she doan’t turn out arl as you expect, an’ woives never do no’ow, doan’t ’ee go fur to blame oi!”
“Grandfer, your rum-an’——”
“Hesh a minute, Nan, hesh an’ lemme finish, will ’ee? Marriage, young man, be arl roight whiles ye be single, but when you be married ’tis generally-mostly-arlways arl wrong—oi’ve troid it twoice, an’ oi knaw! So jest so soon as she begins to feel weddin’ish, oi leaves the matter to you. An’ now, Nan, gimme y’r arm!”
“Boide a minute, Grandfeäther——”