“We be got shart o’ keep; wants zum rain, doan’t ’ee zee?”
“Can’t you answer a question?”
“Thur’s a main sight o’ tackle in the Mash vor um.”
He was so used to being stopped and asked about his sheep that he took it for granted Geoffrey was putting the same accustomed interrogatories. Every farmer cross-examines his neighbour’s shepherd when he meets him. The “Mash” was doubtless a meadow reclaimed from a marsh. “Land be terrable dry, zur.”
“Will you listen to me?” angrily. “Where’s the Warren?”
“Aw, mebbe you means ould Fisher’s?”
“I mean Mr Fisher’s.”
“A’ be auver thur,” pointing north-east.
“How far?”
“Aw, it be a akkerd road,” doubtfully, as he looked Geoffrey up and down, and it dawned on him slowly that it was a stranger.