“Do not be angry, Mr. Dumbrell; pray accept it as a small mark of esteem and gratitude from one respectable man to another.”
“Whoy, since you puts it that ways, young man, we woan’t arg’ about it, an’ oi dunno as oi bean’t almoighty glad of’t.... A guinea, Nan, a goolden guinea! ’Ere be baccy for oi an’ that ’ere cherry ribband for you, an’ sugar for oi, an’ a noo ’at for oi.... Young man, oi thank ’ee, an’ so du Nan.... Thank ’un, Nan; mak’ y’r reverence an’ show y’r manners, lass!”
“Not forgetting your message, Ann,” prompted Sir John.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, curtsying repeatedly, “though ’twere only Gammer Haryott as bid me say if I see you, sir, as she would like a word wi’ you, sir.”
“What about my rum-an’-milk?” demanded the Aged Soul pettishly. “’Ere be oi a-vadin’ an’ famishin’ an’ perishin’ awaay, an’ you a-maggin’ an’ me a-waitin’ an’ nobody to ’tend to oi no’ow, nowhen nor nothin’! Come an’ gimme my rum-an’-milk or no ribbands, moind that! G’marnin’, young man, an’ doan’t ’ee go a-throwin’ your money away so woild-loike an’ rackless! Marnin’, my purty dear! You’ll foind oi settin’ a-top o’ stoile every marnin’ when it be sunny.” So saying, the Aged Soul bared his white head gallantly, nodded, and suffered his dutiful granddaughter to lead him away.
My lady was silent awhile, watching them as they went, the girl so young and strong and motherly, the old man so bowed and feeble; and Sir John, regarding his companion keen-eyed, saw in her look an unwonted tenderness and, when at last she spoke, heard her voice strangely tender also.
“O Sussex!” she murmured. And then: “They are worth caring for, these unspoiled folk o’ the Down Country.”
“They are, Herminia!” he answered. At this she turned and looked at him, frowning a little.
“Have you done so, Sir John?” she questioned. “Have you cared for their comfort and welfare?”