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“Clever in a way, though not so full of wit as my cheel might have been prophesied. Me bein’ generally reckoned a man of might on the bass viol Sundays. But Sally’s just Sally, an’ I wouldn’t change an eyelash of her. Power over musical instruments ban’t given to women-kind, I reckon; though for plain singin’ wi’ other maidens in a plaace o’ worship, she’m a tower o’ strength. An’ she be just a polished corner o’ the temple prayer-times, no matter what gentlefolks comes theer. As to why she took on wi’ Jan, I lay her couldn’t give ’e reasons any more’n me. But so ’tis, an’ though it mayn’t never come to axing out in church, yet lovers be stubborn in their awn conceits. An’ so—you being Farmer Chave’s awn son an’ heir—might, if you was that way minded, up an’ say a word for Jan.”

“So I will then. He’s a right good fellow.”

“’Tis the season o’ herald angels, when hearts are warm, you see. An’ six shillin’ a week do taake a terrible long time to goody. Of course, Jan gets cider, an’ corn at market price tu; yet wi’out offence ’tis tail corn most times an’ not stomachable—stuff as doan’t harden muscle.”