“Aye, an’ oi told a mort o’ loies fur ’ee, oi did!”
“Lies?”
“Aye, didn’t oi tell ’er you was a-poinin’ fur ’er—an’ you ain’t! Didn’t oi tell ’er as the best o’ food sech as beef an’ pork wouldn’t nowise lay easy on your stummick arl along o’ her? Didn’t oi tell ’er as you was a foine, up-standin’, ’andsome young felley—which you ain’t—not by no manner o’ means, an’ that if she didn’t mak’ sure of ’ee, there was a mort o’ purty lasses arl ready for to snap ’ee up? Which they ain’t. An’ now ’ere be you a-doin’ your best to frouden a pore, ancient creeter into ’is grave afore ’is toime!... D’ye call that gratitood?”
“Forgive me!”
The Aged Soul snorted.
“Arl of a trimble oi be. The next lass as you think o’ marryin’, you can woo ’er yourself—doan’t ax oi! Ah, an’ oi be glad now as she said what she did say!”
“And what was that, Ancient One?”
“Says as she’d wait and see which o’ they purty lasses would snap at ’ee first, she did.... An’ I rackon she’ll ’ave to wait a tur’ble long time.”
“And pray, where is she now?”
“A-settin’ ’long o’ my granddarter an’ Mus’ Doubleday, fur sure.”