“Yeou—yeou—yeou—” Mary began, bubbling with mirth.
“They’m better to Northam—more rich, laike an’ us gets them give back again,” he said, while McTurk solemnly waltzed Mother Yeo out of breath, and Beetle told Mary the sad news, as they sat down to clotted cream, jam, and hot bread.
“Yiss. Yeou’ll niver zee us no more, Mary. We’re goin’ to be passons an’ missioners.”
“Steady the Buffs!” said McTurk, looking through the blind. “Tulke has followed us. He’s comin’ up the street now.”
“They’ve niver put us out o’ bounds,” said Mother Yeo. “Bide yeou still, my little dearrs.” She rolled into the inner room to make the score.
“Mary,” said Stalky, suddenly, with tragic intensity. “Do ’ee lov’ me, Mary?”
“Iss—fai! Talled ’ee zo since yeou was zo high!” the damsel replied.
“Zee ’un comin’ up street, then?” Stalky pointed to the unconscious Tulke. “He’ve niver been kissed by no sort or manner o’ maid in hees borned laife, Mary. Oh, ’tees shaamful!”
“Whutt’s to do with me? ’Twill come to ’un in the way o’ nature, I rackon.” She nodded her head sagaciously. “You niver want me to kiss un—sure-ly?”
“Give ’ee half-a-crown if ’ee will,” said Stalky, exhibiting the coin.