“Ah, that I could,” the old woman would say, swallowing the bait eagerly. “My poor husband, you know—Stickly—he did give it I when first he was a-coortin’ me.” “So I think I’ve heard you say,” Mrs. Andrews would return, with placid interest. “Ye’d jist a-had a miff afore he give it ye.” “E—es, we did have a bit of a miff that time; and we shouldn’t never ha’ made it up, I don’t think, if Stickly hadn’t give me the rosy plate.” “He did buy it for ’ee at Shroton, didn’t he?” Mrs. Andrews would say, needing perhaps to recall her hostess to the present by some such reminder, for frequently, when talking of these far-away times, Mrs. Stickly’s faded blue eyes would assume a dreamy look, and it would become evident that her thoughts had strayed away from her interlocutrix to the bygone days, when she was a handsome young lass, and Stickly and his peers had come “a-coortin’.” “Ah, he did buy it for I there—there was more nor him did want to buy it for I. Dear heart alive, I can mind it so well as if it were yesterday. I were reckoned a good-lookin’ maid in those days—I did use to have a very good colour, and my hair was curly and yollow—as yollow as the corn, Stickly did say sometimes—and there was a good many arter me one way and another. There was Tom Boyt—a farmer’s son _he_ were—and there was ’Neas Stuckhey—” “Strange,” Mrs. Andrews occasionally murmured at this moment, for the coincidence never failed to strike her, “Stuckhey and Stickly—the two names do sound very much alike. ’Tis odd how things do come about—ye chose Stickly, and it mid jist as well ha’ been Stuckhey.” To this profound remark Mrs. Stickly would probably assent, and would then continue:— “E—es, a lot o’ us young folks did set off for Shroton Fair that day. There was me, and Annie Boyt, Tom’s sister, and Rose Paddock; and there was Tom, and ’Neas, and my John—that’s Stickly, though I didn’t call him my John then—and a young man from Shillingstone, whose name I can’t mind at the present time, but he was a-coortin’ of Annie. And as we did all want to go together, Tom and Annie did persuade their father to let ’em take one o’ his waggons; so we did have two harses wi’ bells to their harness, and what wi’ the bells, and what wi’ the maids singin’, and the lads shoutin’, and the waggon rattlin’, and the harses’ feet a-hammerin’ the road, I can tell ’ee we did make some noise as we was a-goin’ along. The folks turned to look at us as we droved through the villages, and the childern did run after us, and did cry out ‘Bring us a fairin’, folks! Bring us a fairin’ from Shroton!’ And Tom did say—Tom was al’ays free wi’ his money—he did call out, ‘Well, be good childern; we’ll mayhap bring you back a few ginger-nuts.’