“A man must never give up his principles,” says he. “You stood by yours, of course, Dick?”
“As you see,” says I, feeling somewhat important, and being foolishly willing to parade it.
“I fear the old knight will disinherit thee, Dick,” says he, regarding me closely. “Even as he did me some seven years ago because I dared to contradict him on some trifling matter. ’Tis a touchy old cock, and can ill bide opposition from any man.”
“Faith,” says I, “Can he bide it from a woman? He is like to have it in plenty if I know aught,” I says, the memory of my little scene with Mistress Alison still fresh in my mind.
“Oh!” says he. “Is he so? And how may that be, Dick?”
“He has sent for Alison French,” says I, draining my cup.
“Our cousin Alison, eh?” says he, still curious. “Aye, he had always a tender spot in his heart for the lass.”
“Will he preserve it?” says I. “She has the sharpest tongue that e’er I heard.”
He looked at me with interest. “I ha’nt seen her this two year,” says he. “She bade fair to be a fine woman.”
“Fine enough,” says I. “But preserve me from her tongue—’tis keen as a newly-whetted sword.”