"Where's Miss Ruby?" he asked, driving into the town-place, and coming
on Mary Jane, who was filling a pig's-bucket by the back door.

"Gone up to Pare Dew 'long wi' maister an' the very man I seed i' my
tay-cup, a week come Friday."

"H'm."

"Iss, fay; an' a great long-legged stranger he was. So I stuck en 'pon
my fist an' gave en a scat. 'To-day,' says I, but he didn' budge.
'To-morrow,' I says, an' gave en another; and then 'Nex' day;' and t'
third time he flew. 'Shall have a sweet'eart, Sunday, praise the Lord,'
thinks I; 'wonder who 'tis? Anyway, 'tis a comfort he'll be high 'pon
his pins, like Nanny Painter's hens, for mine be all the purgy-bustious
shape just now.' Well, Sunday night he came to Raney Rock, an' Monday
mornin' to Sheba farm; and no thanks to you that brought en, for not a
single dare-to-deny-me glance has he cast _this_ way."

"Which way, then?"

"'Can't stay to causey, Master Zeb, wi' all the best horn-handled knives
to be took out o' blue-butter 'gainst this evenin's courant. Besides,
you called me a liar last week."

"So you be. But I'll believe 'ee this time."

"Well, I'll tell 'ee this much--for you look a very handsome jowter i'
that new cart. If I were you, I'd be careful that gay furriner _didn
steal more'n my name_"