Mr. Penrose declared he had no idea what old Enoch's criticisms on the members of the cloth were, but expressed a strong desire to be made familiar with them.
‘Weel,’ continued Mrs. Ashworth, ‘he sez as he never noather flatters parsons nor women, for noather on 'em con ston' it. Naa, then, what dun yo' mak' o' that?’
‘He's very wise.’
‘What saysto?’
‘I only mean as far as the parsons are concerned. As to women—why, I suppose I must be silent.’
‘Ne'er mind, Mr. Penrose; tay's waitin', so come along. Yo' cornd bridle women folks, and it's happen as weel yo' cornd; for if they mutn't talk they'd scrat, and that 'ud be a deal wur.’
During tea Mr. Penrose apologized for hiding behind the bushes in the garden while old Enoch was playing the flute: ‘But,’ continued he, ‘the airs were so sweet that it would have been a sin to mar them by interruption.’
Upon hearing this Enoch's eye brightened, and a flush of pride mantled on his cheek. These signs were at once detected by his quick-eyed wife, who broke out in a triumphant voice:
‘An' that's him as wouldn't flatter parsons an' women, cose, as he sez, they cornd ston' it; and he's aside hissel cose yo've cracked up his playin', Mr. Penrose.’
‘All reet, owd lass,’ good-humouredly retorted Enoch, looking love through his mild blue eyes at his wife, who knew so well how to defend her own, ‘all reet; but if thaa durnd mind I'll tell Mr. Penrose abaat Dickey o' Wams.’