"We might have waited for the maister afore shearing—eh?" said Reuben, from one of the creels.
"He'll be here before we finish, please the Lord," answered the parson.
"Is it to-day you're to gang for him?"
"Yes, this afternoon."
"A daub on this leg, parson, where she kicked—deuced take her!... It's like you'll bring him home in a car?"
"Ay; Randal Alston has loaned me his mare."
"Why, man, what a upshot we'll have, for sure—bacon pie and veal and haggis, and top stannin pie and puddings, I reckon.... Just a hand to her leg, parson, while I strip the coat and waistcoat off this black-faced herdwick.... Is the mistress to come home, too?"
"Nay, Reuben, Mrs. Ritson has gone back to where she came from."
"Weel, it's no'but naturable, after all that's happent.... Easy now ... be quiet, wilta ... dusta want another snip, eh?... And young Mistress Greta—it's like she'll be mistress now?"
"It's very likely she'll come to the Ghyll with her husband, Reuben."