“Here he be, Joe! lor, lor, how glad he’ll be to see thee!”
But it wasn’t the Bull that stepped into the room; it was Mr. Bumpkin, rosy, stalwart, jolly, and artful as ever. Now Mrs. Bumpkin was very anxious to be the bearer of such good intelligence as Joe’s arrival, so, notwithstanding the fact that Mr. Bumpkin and he were face to face, the eager woman exclaimed:
“Here be our Joe, Tom, hearty and well. And bean’t he a smart fine feller? What’ll Polly think of un now?”
“Shut up thic chatter,” said Mr. Bumpkin, laughing. “Halloa! why, Joe, egad thee looks like a gineral. I’d take thee for a kernel at the wery least. Why, when did thee come, lad?”
“Just now, master.”
“That be right, an’ I be glad to see thee. I’ll warrant Nancy ain’t axed thee t’ have nothun.”
“Why, thee be welcome to the ’ouse if thee can eat un, thee knows thic,” answered Nancy; “but dinner’ll be ready at twelve, and thee best not spoil un.”
“A quart o’ ale wun’t spile un, will un, Joe?”
“Now look at that,” said the soldier. “Thankee, master, but not a quart.”
“Well, thee hasn’t got thee head snicked off yet, Joe?”