“He have took my cottage for the trout-fishing.”
“Aw! You calls un Hollyocks, doan’t ee?” said Ruck.
“A’ bean’t very far from Greene Ferne, be a’?” asked Hedges.
“Wimmen,” said the clerk meaningly. “’Pend upon it, it be the wimmen!”
“Lor, here um comes!” said Ruck.
Two young men walked quickly round the tower, coming from the other side, down the gravel path past the group, and opening the wicket-gate went out into the field. Nash bowed and scraped, Ruck lifted his beaver, but neither seemed to observe these attentions.
“It be the wimmen, and no mistake,” said Ruck. “Thaay be gone to meet um. The Ferne folk be moast sure to come up thuck path this sunny day, ’stead of driving.”
“Marnin’, shepherd,” said the clerk to a labouring man who had just entered the churchyard. “I was afeared you’d be late. ’Spose you come from Upper Furlong. How’s your voice?”
“Aw, featish (fairish). I zucked a thrush’s egg to clear un.”
“Arl right, Jabez; mind as you doan’t zeng too fast. It be your fault, shepherd, it be your fault.”