DOBSON. 'Good daäy then, Dobson!' Civil-spoken i'deed! Why, Wilson, tha 'eärd 'im thysen--the feller couldn't find a Mister in his mouth fur me, as farms five hoonderd haäcre. WILSON. You never find one for me, Mr. Dobson. DOBSON. Noä, fur thou be nobbut schoolmaster; but I taäkes 'im fur a Lunnun swindler, and a burn fool. WILSON. He can hardly be both, and he pays me regular every Saturday. DOBSON. Yeas; but I haätes 'im. _Enter_ STEER, FARM MEN _and_ WOMEN. STEER. (_Goes and sits under apple tree_.) Hev' ony o' ye seen Eva? DOBSON. Noä, Mr. Steer. STEER. Well, I reckons they'll hev' a fine cider-crop to-year if the blossom 'owds. Good murnin', neighbours, and the saäme to you, my men. I taäkes it kindly of all o' you that you be coomed--what's the newspaäper word, Wilson?--celebrate--to celebrate my birthdaäy i' this fashion. Niver man 'ed better friends, and I will saäy niver master 'ed better men: fur thaw I may ha' fallen out wi' ye sometimes, the fault, mebbe, wur as much mine as yours; and, thaw I says it mysen, niver men 'ed a better master--and I knaws what men be, and what masters be, fur I wur nobbut a laäbourer, and now I be a landlord-- burn a plowman, and now, as far as money goäs, I be a gentleman, thaw I beänt naw scholard, fur I 'ednt naw time to maäke mysen a scholard while I wur maäkin' mysen a gentleman, but I ha taäen good care to turn out boäth my darters right down fine laädies. DOBSON. An' soä they be. 1ST FARMING MAN. Soä they be! soä they be! 2ND FARMING MAN. The Lord bless boäth on 'em! 3RD FARMING MAN. An' the saäme to you, Master. 4TH FARMING MAN. And long life to boäth on 'em. An' the saäme to you, Master Steer, likewise. STEER. Thank ye! _Enter_ EVA. Wheer 'asta been? EVA. (_Timidly_.) Many happy returns of the day, father. STEER. They can't be many, my dear, but I 'oäpes they'll be 'appy. DOBSON. Why, tha looks haäle anew to last to a hoonderd. STEER. An' why shouldn't I last to a hoonderd? Haäle! why shouldn't I be haäle? fur thaw I be heighty this very daäy, I niver 'es sa much as one pin's prick of paäin; an' I can taäke my glass along wi' the youngest, fur I niver touched a drop of owt till my oän wedding-daäy, an' then I wur turned huppads o' sixty. Why shouldn't I be haäle? I ha' plowed the ten-aäcre--it be mine now--afoor ony o' ye wur burn--ye all knaws the ten-aäcre--I mun ha' plowed it moor nor a hoonderd times; hallus hup at sunrise, and I'd drive the plow straäit as a line right i' the faäce o' the sun, then back ageän, a-follering my oän shadder--then hup ageän i' the faäce o' the sun. Eh! how the sun 'ud shine, and the larks 'ud sing i' them daäys, and the smell o' the mou'd an' all. Eh! if I could ha' gone on wi' the plowin' nobbut the smell o' the mou'd 'ud ha' maäde ma live as long as Jerusalem. EVA. Methusaleh, father. STEER. Ay, lass, but when thou be as owd as me thou'll put one word fur another as I does.