human
Eh, but you will be mortal fine! said Mrs Abbott, turning her artillery on the afflicted Lettice.
gpt
I only wish our Mall had such a chance. If she--
human
Mrs Abbott, I cry you mercy, but here comes your Caleb, said Hans calmly.
gpt
I reckon he shall be after you.
human
I reckon he shall, the caitiff! That man o' mine, he's for ever and the day after a-sending the childer after me.
gpt
I rejoice to hear you have so loving an husband,
human
Eh, bless you, there's no love about it. Just like them men! they'd shut a woman's mouth up as tight as a fish, and never give her no leave to speak a word, if they had their way. But I'm not one of your meek bag-puddings, that'll take any shape you pinch 'em,--not I, forsooth; and he knows it. I'll have my say, soon or late, and Prissy, she's a downright chatterbox. Not that I'm that, you know--not a bit of it: but Prissy, she is; and I can tell you, when Prissy and Dorcas and Ben they're all at it, the house isn't over quiet, for none on 'em hearkens what t'others are saying, and their father whacks 'em by times--ay, he doth! Now, Caleb, what's to do?
gpt
Nothing particular, Mother, said slow, deliberate Caleb through the open window:
human
Thou lack-halter rascal, and ne'er told me while I asked thee!
gpt
There's a deliverance! said Mr Lewthwaite.
human
Blessed be the pedlar!-- Have you been much pestered by that gadfly?
gpt
There's been a bit of buzzing by times,
human
Now, Mother, darling, said Milisent,
gpt
My dear child! was the response.
human
Methinks, if you would do that, it should be only in my coffin. I have one journey to go soon, and it is like to be the next.
gpt
Mother, sweet heart, I won't have it! You shall yet win to Selwick, if I carry you every foot of the way.
human
Nay, nay, my dear heart, I cannot hope that at fourscore.
gpt
Fourscore! ay, or forty score! cried Milisent.
human
Why, old Mistress Outhwaite journeyed right to the Border but just ere we came, and she's four years over the fourscore--and on horseback belike. Sure, you might go in a waggon or a caroche!
gpt
Where is the caroche, Milly?
human
Well! but at any rate we might find a waggon.
gpt
There is a travelling waggon, said Hans,
human
That is three weeks hence. Why not? Sure, your landlord would suffer you to let this house, and you might leave some behind till it were off your hands. What saith Temperance?--or Hans?
gpt
That where my Lady goeth, I go,
human
Is it needful, Milly, to settle all our futures ere the clock strike? humorously inquired Mr Lewthwaite.
gpt
Methinks we might leave that for the morrow.