“Well, soon as ever Mrs. Collins had a-got hold o’ the little thing, an’ got the little face up again hers an’ began singin’ to it, an pattin’ it, an’ rockin’ it, it did stop cryin’—’twas a knowin’ little thing, that baby, I did al’ays say afterwards, for ’twas that done the job. The wold body was so pleased as could be.
“‘Didn’t I say you didn’t know how to hold it?’ says she. ‘’Tis a very fine child too,’ she says.
“And then, ‘oh, mother,’ says Mary, ‘I did so want ye to see it.’
“And so they made friends straight off, and Mary went home wi’ her mother to tea.
“Coortin’? Well, we don’t see so much o’ that—not these times. The young chaps be all for bicylin’ these days; they wouldn’t be bothered wi’ travellin’ in my cart. But I do mind one queer thing what happened many years ago now—dally! ’twas the very queerest thing as ever I knowed, or did happen in these parts.
“’Twas one Tuesday. I wur jist puttin’ in Whitefoot, an’ a few o’ my fares was a-standin’ about waitin’ for I to be ready to start, when I see a great big fellow marchin’ down the hill from Old’s.
“‘Goin’ Branston-way?’ says he with a nod to I.
“‘E-es,’ I says, ‘I be goin’ Branston-way. Be you a stranger?’ says I. ‘All the folks as lives about here do know as Branston is my way.’
“‘I’m a stranger and I’m not a stranger,’ says he. ‘My folks used to live here. I used to live with my grandfather up yonder at Whitethorns,’ he says. ‘He was called old Jesse Taylor—d’ye mind him?’
“‘I mind him very well,’ says I. ‘A fine wold fellow.’