"Not quite impossible, Adèle. If you will not stay for any other reason—tell me, Adèle, will you not stay for my sake?" Still she made no answer, only looked up with a shy startled glance. But in that look Harry found courage to repeat his question. * * * * * "Never did I ply my fark at such a roaren dinner—never in my born days; I tells ’ee true, souls." "Ay, I seed ’ee myself, Lumpy, a-scoopen chidlens an’ plum-pudden an’ furmenty into your thropple till I thowt ’ee’d bust. ’Twere noble eatin’, to be sure." "Ay, Soapy, an’ cost a pretty penny, I warrant. Squire Harry be a different sart o’ feller to old Squire as was. Never did he gi’ us a warmen-up, nor never would, if there’d ha’ bin farty weddens." "Why bean’t every day a marryen day? ’T’ould keep all our innards warm an’ cosy ’ithout us doen a hand’s turn." "’T’ould be the ruin of a poor stunpoll like ’ee, Jemmy. I’m afeard ’ee’ll never be a man, an’ if ’ee got your vittles so easy ’ee’d be more like a fatted calf ’n ever." "Ah! I knows my dumb brain be weak by natur’. I mind how dazed I were the black day young pa’son went to Lun’on, and John painter made Mis’ess Joplady’s pictur’ the colour o’ sut." "An’ it’ll be the colour o’ sut to-morrer, souls, I gi’ my word for that. They tells me ’tis treason, but John painter do blot out Queen’s yead to-morrer, and inn turns to Berkeley Arms again." "Like a ’ooman, changes her name at a wedden.—Ah! here be neighbour Minshull; a scantling o’ cheese and a mug o’ old stingo for gaffer, Mistress Joplady; he’ll want a summat to comfort un, poor aged soul, this night o’ fearsome joy." "True, Tom cobbler, I be gone eighty-vive. I ha’ seed un home-along, souls; my boy Sherebiah be a man at last, an’ I be proud as a grandfeyther a’ready. Never did I think my boy an’ young pa’son ’d say the awful words in church the same day. ’I take thee, Addle,’ says Master Harry in a feelin’ key, and ’I take thee, Katrinka,’ says my boy when the gentry was done; and they little small words do have a world o’ better or wuss in ’em." "Ay, gaffer; ’ee can sing ’Now lettest thou thy sarvant depart’, wi’ a honest mind, hey!" "Hoy! Not me! I bean’t got no vurther ’n ’My soul doth magnify’ yet. I’ll bide a bit longer afore I goos to churchyard, trust me. My boy as was do say there’ll be another wedden afore long; the Dutchman and Mis’ess Addle’s mother be a-comen to’t. He’ve been sweet on her, a’ b’lieve, for many a forlorn day. My boy ha’ carried many a noble gift from the man to th’ ’ooman." "Two furreners makes a better match nor one o’ one sart, t’other o’ t’other. Mistress Addle be a goodly maid, nesh as a ripe apple; but her be French; that you cannet deny; and French and English be like oil and vinegar." "And what do mix better in a sallet-dressen?—tell me that, souls."