Julia. ’Tis all said in one word.
Chris. What’s that?
Julia. ’Tis “work.”
Nat. Work?
Chris. Work?
Tansie. Work! And yet ’tis a fine young lady as you do look in your muslin gown with silky ribbons to it and all.
Julia. I’m a farmer, Tansie. And for a farmer ’tis work of one sort, or t’other from when the sun is up till the candle has burned itself short. If ’tisn’t working with my own hands, ’tis driving of the hands of another.
Chris. I’ve heard tell as a farmer do spin gold all the day same as one of they great spiders as go putting out silk from their mouths.
Julia. And what is gold to me, Chris, who have no one but myself to spend it on?
Chris. Folks do say as the laying up of gold be one of the finest things in the world.