John. Ah, and that you does, master. And ’tis the wonder with all for miles around as how you’ve been and kept yourself to yourself like this, so many years.
William. Well, John, it appears that I’m to pass out of my own keeping. My Sunday clothes are all laid out upon the bed.
John. Bless my soul, Master William, and ’tis but Thursday too.
William. Isn’t that a proper day for this sort of business, John?
John. I’ve always been used to Saturday myself, but with a gentleman ’tis different like.
William. Well, John, there’s nothing in this day or that as far as I can see. A bad job is a bad job, no matter what, and the day of it does make but very little difference.
John. You’re right there, master. But if I may be so bold, where is it as you be going off courting this afternoon?
William. Ah—now you and me will have a straight talk one with another—for ’tis to you I look, John, for to pull me out of this fix where the mistress has gone and put me.
John. And that I’ll do, master—with all the will in the world.
William. Well then, John, ’tis to be one of those maids from strange parts who are come to live at old Luther’s, up yonder.