"Ay, ay—that be it—'tis as true as gospel!" said the clerk.
"So you a'n't to have that old sycamore down, after all, Master Dickons?" inquired Tonson, after a pause in the conversation.
"No; Miss hath carried the day against the squire and Mr. Waters; and there stands the old tree, and it hath to be looked to better than ever it were afore!"
"Why hath Miss taken such a fancy to it? 'Tis an old crazy thing!"
"If thou hadst been there when she did beg, as I may say, its life," replied Dickons, with a little energy—"and hadst seen her, and heard her voice, that be as smooth as cream, thou would'st never have forgotten it, I can tell thee!"
"There isn't a more beautiful lady i' t' county, I reckon, than the squire's sister?" inquired the sexton.
"No, nor in all England: if there be, I'll lay down twenty pounds!"
"And where's to be found a young lady that do go about i' t' village like she?—She were wi' Phœbe Williams t'other night, all through the snow, and i' t' dark."
"If I'd only laid hands on that chap!" interrupted the young farmer, her rescuer.
"I wonder she do not choose some one to be married to, up in London," said the landlord.