DANIEL. There was a cow—well, ’tis a smartish lot of cows as I’ve seen in my time, but this one, why, the King haven’t got the match to she in all his great palace, and that’s the truth, so ’tis. ANNET. O don ’t tell us about the cows, Uncle, we want to know about all the other things. MAY. The shows of acting folk, and the wild animals, and the nice sweets. ELIZABETH. They don’t want to hear about anything sensible, Dan. They’re like all the maids now, with their thoughts set on pleasuring and foolishness. DANIEL. Ah, the maids was different in our day, wasn’t they Mother? ELIZABETH. And that they were. Why, when I was your age, Annet, I should have been ashamed if I couldn’t have held my own in any proper or suitable conversation. DANIEL. Ah, you was a rare sensible maid in your day, Mother. Do you mind when you comed along of me to Kingham sale? “You’re never going to buy an animal with all that white to it,” Dan, you says to me. ELIZABETH. Ah—I recollect. DANIEL. “’Tis true her has a whitish leg,” I says, “but so have I, and so have you, Mother—and who’s to think the worse on we for that?” Ah, I could always bring you round to look at things quiet and reasonable in those days—that I could. ELIZABETH. And a good thing if there were others of the same pattern now, I’m thinking. DANIEL. So ’twould be—so ’twould be. But times do bring changes in the forms of the cattle and I count ’tis the same with the womenfolk. ’Tis one thing this year and ’tis t’other in the next. MAY. Do tell us more of what you did see at the Fair, Uncle. DANIEL. There was a ram. My word! but the four feet of he did cover a good two yards of ground; just as it might be, standing. ELIZABETH. Come, Father. DANIEL. And the horns upon the head of he did reach out very nigh as far as might do the sails of one of they old wind-mills. MAY. O Uncle, and how was it with the wool of him? DANIEL. The wool, my wench, did stand a good three foot from all around of the animal. You might have set a hen with her eggs on top of it—and that you might. And now I comes to recollect how ’twas, you could have set a hen one side of the wool and a turkey t’other. MAY. O Uncle, that must have been a beautiful animal! And what was the tail of it? DANIEL. The tail, my little maid? Why ’twas longer nor my arm and as thick again—’twould have served as a bell rope to the great bell yonder in Gloucester church—and so ’twould. Ah, ’twas sommat like a tail, I reckon, yon. ELIZABETH. Come, Father, such talk is hardly suited to little girls, who should know better than to ask so many teasing questions. ANNET. ’Tisn’t only May, Aunt, I do love to hear what uncle tells, when he has been out for a day or two. ELIZABETH. And did you have company on the way home, Father? DANIEL. That I did. ’Twas along of young Andrew as I did come back. ELIZABETH. Along of Andrew? Girls, you may now go outside into the garden for a while. Yes, put aside your work.