"I be glad if yu thinks yu'll git 'un," wheezed poor Jack. "'Twude be a turble gude job var 'ee tu git a yusband. But doan't 'ee make tu shar on 'un, Miss Zairy. 'Un du zay as him be turble vond on yu, and as yu du be playing vast and loose wi' he. That's the ways a young maid du go on, and zo the young man du slip thru' 'un's vingers."
"Yes, Jack," said Sarah, with unwonted meekness.
She looked round the little unceiled room, open on one side to the wooden staircase which led to the kitchen below; at the earth-stained corduroys hanging on a peg; at the brown mug which held Happy Jack's last meal, and all he cared to take—a thin gruel.
"'Twude be a grand marriage vor the likes o' yu, Miss Zairy, vor the Crewys du be the yoldest vambly in all Devonsheer, as I've yeard tell; and yure volk bain't never comed year at arl befar yure grandvather's time. Eh, what a tale there were tu tell when old Sir Timothy married Mary Ann! 'Twas a vine scandal vor the volk, zo 'twere; but I wuden't niver give in tu leaving Youlestone. But doan't 'ee play the vule wi' Master Peter, Miss Zairy. Take 'un while yu can git 'un, will 'ee? And be glad tu git 'un. Yu listen tu I, vor I be a turble witty man, and I be giving of yu gude advice, Miss Zairy."
"I am listening, Jack, and you know I always take your advice."
"Ah! if 'twerent' for the anny-dominy, I'd be tu yure wedding," sighed
Happy Jack, "zame as I were tu Mary Ann's. Zo I wude."
She took his knotted hand, discoloured with the labour of eighty years, and bade him farewell.
"Thee be a lucky maid," said Happy Jack, closing his eyes.
* * * * *
The tears were yet glistening on Sarah's long lashes, when she met the doctor on his way to the cottage she had just quitted.