“And ’ow be it then that all my sheep and things be took off the farm?”
“Dear me!” said Mr. Prigg, in the tone of an injured man; “I think, of all men, clients are the most ungrateful. I have worked night and day to serve you; I have sacrificed my pleasures, which I do not reckon—my home comforts—”
“But who be thic feller that steals my corn an’ hay, and pigs?”
“Really, Mr. Bumpkin, this is language which I did not expect from you.”
“But ’ow comes my farm stripped, Maister Prigg? tell I thic.”
“I suppose you have given a bill of sale, Mr. Bumpkin. You are aware that a lawsuit cannot be carried on without means, and you should have calculated the cost before going to war. I think there is Scripture authority for that.”
“Then have this Skinalive feller the right to take un?”
“I presume so,” said Prigg; “I know he’s a most respectable man.”
“A friend o’ thine, I s’poase?”
“Well,” said Prigg, hesitating, “I may even go so far as to say that.”