Elizabeth. Well, you must please yourself about it Father, as you do most times. But ’tis uncertain work taking up with other folks children as I told you from the first. See what a lot of trouble you and me have had along of Giles.
Daniel. Giles be safe enough in them foreign parts where I did send him. You’ve no need to trouble your head about he, Mother—unless ’tis a letter as he may have got sending to Mill.
Elizabeth. No, Father, Giles has never sent a letter since the day he left home. But very often there is no need for letters to keep remembrance green. ’Tis a plant what thrives best on a soil that is bare.
Daniel. Well, Mother, and what be you a-driving at? I warrant as Mill have got over them notions as she did have once. And, look you here, ’twas with young Andrew as I did journey back from the Fair. And he be a-coming up presently for to get his answer.
Elizabeth. All I say is that I hope he may get it then.
Daniel. Ah, I reckon as ’tis rare put about as he have been all this long while, and never a downright “yes” to what he do ask.
[May comes softly in and hides behind the door.
Elizabeth. Well, that’s not my fault, Father.
Daniel. But her’ll have to change her note this day, that her’ll have. For I’ve spoke for she, and ’tis for next month as I’ve pitched the wedding day.
Elizabeth. And you may pitch, Father. You may lead the mare down to the pond, but she’ll not drink if she hasn’t the mind to. You know what Millie is. ’Tisn’t from my side that she gets it either.