“Master ain't pleased, he ain't,” said Simon, “if he dwon't get his things, his spring wegetables, and his strawberries, as early as though we'd a got forcin' pits and glass like other folk. 'Tis a year and mwore since he promised as I sh'd hev glass along that ther' wall, but 'tis no nigher comin' as I can see. I be to spake to miss about it now, and, when I spakes to her, 'tis, 'oh, Simon, we must wait till the 'spensary's 'stablished,' or 'oh, Simon, last winter wur a werry tryin wun, and the sick club's terrible bad off for funds,'—and so we gwoes on, and med gwo on for aught as I can see, so long as there's a body sick or bad off in all the parish. And that'll be all us. For, what wi' wisitin' on 'em, and sendin' on 'em dinners, and a'al the doctor's stuff as is served out o' the 'spensary—wy, 'tis enough to keep 'em bad a'al ther' lives. Ther ain't no credit in gettin' well. Ther' wur no sich a caddle about sick folk when I wur a bwoy.”
Simon had never been known to make such a long speech before, and Tom argued well for his negotiation.
“Well, Simon,” he said, “I've been talking to my cousin, and I think she will do what you want now. The dispensary is set up, and the people are very healthy. How much glass should you want, now, along that wall?”
“A matter o' twenty fit or so,” said Simon.
“I think that can be managed,” said Tom; “I'll speak to my cousin about it; and then you would have plenty to do in the houses, and you'd want a regular man under you.”
“Ees; 'twould take two on us reg'lar to kep things as they should be.”
“And you ought to have somebody who knows what he is about. Can you think of anyone who would do, Simon?”
“Ther's a young chap as works for Squire Wurley. I've heard as he wants to better hisself.”
“But he isn't an Englebourn man. Isn't there anyone in the parish?”
“Ne'er a one as I knows on.”