“Tom!” she said, “Tom, where beest thee gwine?”
Bumpkin started; turned round, and said:
“Nancy! what, be it thee, lassie?”
“Ay, Tom, sure enough it be I. Let’s cheer up, Tom. If the worst come to the worst—we can but goo to Union.”
“The wust have come to th’ wust, Nancy; we be ruined! Look at this ’ere farm—all be bare—all be lost, Nancy. Hark how silent it all be!”
“Never mind, Tom; never mind. I wish Joe wur here.”
“Ah! Joe, yes. I wonder where Joe be; praps he be out here in th’ six akre.”
“No, no, Tom, he be gwine for a sojer; but I’ve a mind he’ll come back. And who knows, we may be ’appy yet! We’ve worked hard, Tom, together these five-and-thirty year, and sure we can trudge on t’ th’ end. Come, let’s goo in and ave some breakfast.”
But Tom kept on walking and looking round the fields after his old manner.
“I think we’ll ave wuts here,” said he.