‘Enoch! Enoch! dun yo' yer? Doesto see th' parson?’
‘No, lass, I doan't,’ said he, taking the flute from his lips.
‘I welly think he's forgetten us this time, Enoch.’
‘Nod he, lass; he's too fond o' thi butter-cakes and moufins (muffins) to forgeet. He's some fond o' thi bakin', I con tell thaa. Didn't he say as when he geet wed he'd bring his missis to thee to larn haa to mak' bread?’
‘Yi, he did, for sure!’
‘And so he will,’ said Mr. Penrose, stepping from behind the garden bush. ‘You see your husband is right, Mrs. Ashworth. I've not forgotten it is baking-day, or that I was due at your house to tea.’
‘Theyer, Enoch, thaa sees what thi tootling on th' owd flute's done for thee,’ said the old woman, in her surprise and chagrin. ‘Thaa cornd be too careful haa thaa talks. Thaa sees trees hes yers as weel as stoan walls.’
‘Ne'er mind, Mr. Penrose; I were nobbud hevin' her on a bit. Hoo thinks a mighty lot o' parsons, I con tell yo'. Hoo's never reet but when hoo's oather listenin' to 'em or feedin' 'em,’ and the old man quietly broke into a laugh.
‘An' dun yo' know what he sez abaat parsons, Mr. Penrose? I mud as weel tell tales abaat him naa he's started tellin' tales abaat me.’