Well, oi sez ’em over an’ over ’till oi were black i’ the faace, but it didn’t seem tu du me no good at arl, ’till one day ’long comes ol’ Penelope, tears up my charm an’ gi’es me some stuff in a liddle bottle as oi must rub arl over myself ... which oi done. An’ Lord—arter a bit oi got that skittish—used t’ kick up my ’ind legs loike any colt ... an’ me a married man an’ arl. Oi dunno as if oi——” “Grandfeäther!” “Dannle it! That be my rum-an’-milk!” exclaimed the Aged One, scowling. “Grandfeäther, be ye comin’?” “Arl roight, lass, arl roight!” piped the old man pettishly, getting from his perch with surprising nimbleness. “Oi’ll ’ave to go, my pretty bird, oi’ll ’ave to leave ’ee or ’twill be milk an’ no rum! Ann be that ’ard-’earted an’ ... Arl roight, Nan, ’ere oi be!” This as his granddaughter appeared, who, beholding Sir John, blushed and curtsied. Quoth she: “’Tis tur’ble kind o’ you to bide an’ keep ’im comp’ny, Rose—mam, for ’e du be that mischievious——” “Never tak’ no ’eed o’ my Nan, ’er’s a babe!” retorted the Aged One. “An’ oi du ’ope as you’ll come an’ talk tu oi again, my Beauty Broight, fur oi doan’t tak’ naun account o’ little ’uns, an’ you be a foine up-standin’, down-sittin’ wench, sure-ly! An’ the young ’un ’ere thinks the same, doan’t ’ee, young man?” “I do!” answered Sir John fervently. “Indeed, I have never seen a more up-standing, down-sitting wench in all my life!” “Well, then, whoy doan’t ’ee up an’ tell ’er so, wi’out me a-doin’ it fur ’ee. You be sweet on ’er, oi s’pose?” “Monstrous so!” “Well, then, whoy caan’t ’ee tell ’er summat about it? Ye caan’t expect oi tu du it fur ’ee arl the toime. ’Ere you’ve stood a-lookin’ an’ a-starin’ an’ so silent as a turmut! That bean’t no waay tu win a wench—no! Lord, oi were different in my young days; oi knawed the waay tu go a-wooin’! An’ oi ain’t forgot yet, though I be such a ol’, aged soul!” “Then perhaps you will help me, now and then?” Sir John suggested. “Whoy, sence you ax me so sensible an’ modest-loike, oi dunno as oi wun’t. For, if you bean’t much to look at, you be batter’n some, an’ she moight du worse.” “It is possible!” sighed Sir John. “So oi dunno as oi wun’t put in a word for ’ee noo an’ then wi’ the lass. But moind ye if oi win ’er for ’ee an’ she doan’t turn out arl as you expect, an’ woives never do no’ow, doan’t ’ee go fur to blame oi!” “Grandfer, your rum-an’——” “Hesh a minute, Nan, hesh an’ lemme finish, will ’ee? Marriage, young man, be arl roight whiles ye be single, but when you be married ’tis generally-mostly-arlways arl wrong—oi’ve troid it twoice, an’ oi knaw! So jest so soon as she begins to feel weddin’ish, oi leaves the matter to you. An’ now, Nan, gimme y’r arm!” “Boide a minute, Grandfeäther——” “Whaffor, Nan? Ain’t ye kep’ me a-waiting long enough?” “I’ve a message for the gen’elman——”