“Shut up, Hannah!” said Jagger impatiently, as he turned his eyes on his father. “What would you say to Nancy if it was you?”
“It isn’t what I’d say, but t’ way I’d say it. T’ same helm ’at sends t’ ship on to t’ rocks ’ud steer it into deep water. But I’m only plaguing you, lad. Hannah’s right enough; you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
“If she talks till she’s black in t’ face,” said Jagger sullenly, “she’ll not get me to give t’ shop up and go back to Baldwin.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be in a hurry to tell her so,” returned his father, “or she’ll happen think t’ new hobby-horse has put you out o’ love wi’ t’ old doll.”
Grannie had been silent all this time but now her voice broke in:
“A Clegg lass,
And a wedding for brass!
A Clegg wife,
And it’s sorrow or strife!”
“That’s a true word, Maniwel, and always has been, though it’s few lassies the Cleggs have bred; and they may thank the Lord for that, seeing as how the few they’ve had supped sorrow by t’ canful. You’ll not rec’llect Nancy’s aunt—nay it ’ud be her great-aunt....”