“Like enough. But what was 'em zayin'?”
“I couldn't heer nothin' partic'lar, but I judged as 'twas summat about Sunday and the fire.”
“'Tis na use for thaay to go on fillin' our place wi' bottles. I dwon't mean to take no mwore doctor's stuff.”
Simon, it may be said, by the way, had obstinately refused to take any medicine since his fall, and had maintained a constant war on the subject, both with his own women and Miss Winter, whom he had impressed more than ever with a belief in his wrongheadedness.
“Ah! and how be'ee, tho', Maester Simon?” said David, “I didn't mind to ax afore'. You dwon't feel no wus for your fall, I hopes?”
“I feels a bit stiffish like, and as if summat wur cuttin' m' at times, when I lifts up my arms.”
“'Tis a mercy 'tis no wus,” said David; “we bean't so young nor lissom as we was; Maester Simon.”
To which remark Simon replied by a grunt. He disliked allusions to his age—a rare dislike amongst his class in that part of the country. Most of the people are fond of making themselves out older than they are, and love to dwell on their experiences, and believe, as firmly as the rest of us, that everything has altered for the worse in the parish and district since their youth.
But Simon, though short of words and temper, and an uncomfortable acquaintance in consequence, was inclined to be helpful enough in other ways. The constable, with his assistance, had very soon hived his swarm of cross-legged bees.
Then the constable insisted on Simon's coming with him and taking a glass of ale, which, after a little coquetting, Simon consented to do. So, after carrying his re-capture safely home, and erecting the hive on a three-legged stand of his own workmanship, he hastened to rejoin Simon, and the two soon found themselves in the bar of the “Red Lion.”