‘Yes,’ said Richard quickly; ‘yes, I told you all about that.’
‘Ah, so ye did. ’Twere funny how you come across her. I be pleased to think as ye’ve met. She were a good missus to Elias—she were, indeed—and a good missus to one man is like to be a good one to another.’
Richard caught his breath and leaned forward; his face was flushed, his eyes shining.
‘Why do you say this to me now?’ he said eagerly.
His uncle removed his pipe from his mouth, took a sip of punch, and then looked at him solemnly.
‘Because, Richard, my boy, ’t is but nat’ral I should talk of her, seein’ as we be goin’ to be man an’ wife so soon.’
‘What do you mean?’ cried Richard, almost violently. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Why,’ returned Isaac, raising his voice to a kind of mild roar, ‘you have n’t been listenin’ to me. I’ve been a-talkin’ about Mrs. Fiander—’Lias’s widow. I be a-goin’ to get married to she!’
‘You!’ exclaimed his nephew in the same loud fierce tone.
‘’Ees,’ bellowed Farmer Sharpe. ‘Have n’t I been a-tellin’ ye this hour and more? Did n’t I say I were a-goin’ to change my state, and did n’t I tell ’ee she’d a house of her own and wanted me to live over there along of her? But your brains was wool-gatherin’—I’ll lay a shillin’ you was a-thinkin’ o’ your own young woman!’ cried Isaac, with a roar of laughter, stretching forward a long arm that he might give his nephew a facetious dig on the nearest available portion of his person.