“What—he! The justices fined he a pound a bit ago for fighting Mathew the cobbler. Mathew lives with Thompson’s wife—he as was transported for firing Farmer Ruck’s rick-barken. That be a vine thing—her be as bad as he.”
“The new school will set you to rights.”
“Aw, will a’? The schoolmaster kissed one of the wenches, and got sent away; but them Timothy wenches bean’t no better than um should be.”
“Who’s Timothy?”
“Doan’t you knaw ould Timothy? He be a mower—a’ will drink dree gallons a day. That young Sam’l lodges with he: he be a shepherd, a’ be a new chap. I doan’t knaw much about he, but I’ve hearn as a’ had six weeks for stealing lambs.”
“H’m!” said Valentine, smiling. “They all seem a bad lot.”
“Zo um be.”
“But surely Mrs Estcourt is good to the poor: you don’t know anything against her?”
“Aw, doan’t I? What be her daughter up to? What wur her a-doing on the Down thuck night with thuck gurt lanky chap from the squire’s as goes arter her? Mebbe you knaws un.”
“When was it?” asked Valentine, with sudden interest, all his annoyance and bitterness returning. “What do you mean?”