“Thee beest too old, thee meanest,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing.
“Now hold thee tongue, Nancy; I wur gwine to say that myself—dang if I warnt!”
“Now look at thic,” said Joe; “maister were gwine to say thic.”
“So I wur,” repeated Bumpkin. “Jist got the word o’ th’ tip o’ th’ tongue.”
“And be these Queen’s Counsellors,” he asked, “summat grand?”
“I believe you,” said Horatio; “they wears silk gowns.”
“Do em?” said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing. “Silk gowns—and what kind o’ petticoats?”
“Shut up,” said Bumpkin; “thee be as igorant as a
donkey; these Queen’s Counsellors be made for their larnin and cleverness, beant em, sir?”
“Well,” said Horatio, “nobody ever could make out—some of em are pretty good, and some of em ain’t much—not near so good as the others.”