“Noa didn’t; I went o’ my own free will. No man should persuade I—trust Joe for thic: couldn’t persuade I to goo, nor yet not to goo.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Miss Prettyface, with her sweet little voice.
“And thee sewed the colours on; didn’t thee, Miss?”
“I did,” answered the young lady.
“Joe,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “I be mortal sorry for thee; what’ll I do wirout thy evidence? Lawyer Prigg say thee’s the most wallible witness for I.”
“Lookee ’ere, maister, ere we bin ’anging about for weeks and weeks and no forrerder so far as I can see.
When thy case’ll come on I don’t bleeve no man can tell; but whensomdever thee wants Joe, all thee’ve got to do is to write to the Queen, and she’ll gie I leave.”
“O thee silly, igerant ass!” said Mr. Bumpkin; “I can’t help saying it, Joe—the Queen doan’t gie leave, it be the kernel. I know zummut o’ sogerin, thee see; I were in th’ militia farty year agoo: but spoase thee be away—abraird? How be I to get at thee then?”
“Ha! if I be away in furren parts, and thy case be in the list, I doant zee—”
“Thee silly feller, thee’ll ha to goo fightin’ may be.”