“Oie thowt, may be, Meary, that your feelings might be zummat loike my own. I feel zore about the heart, Meary, and it's all com' of parting with you. Don't you feel queerish, too?”
“Can't say that I do, Jacob. I shall soon see you again.” (pulling violently at her apron-string.)
“Meary, oi'm afear'd you don't feel like oie.”
“P'r'aps not—women can't feel like men. I'm sorry that you are going, Jacob, for you have been very kind and obliging, and I wish you well.”
“Meary,” cried Jacob, growing desperate at her coyness, and getting quite close up to her, “will you marry oie? Say yeez or noa?”
This was coming close to the point. Mary drew farther from him, and turned her head away.
“Meary,” said Jacob, seizing upon the hand that held the apron-string. “Do you think you can better yoursel'? If not—why, oie'm your man. Now, do just turn about your head and answer oie.”
The girl turned round, and gave him a quick, shy glance, then burst out into a simpering laugh.
“Meary, will you take oie?” (jogging her elbow.)
“I will,” cried the girl, jumping up from the log, and running into the house.