“I wor over to Exeford in the morning,” John began from the chimney-corner, looking straight at Annie; “for to zee a little calve, Jan, as us cuddn’t get thee to lave houze about.  Meesus have got a quare vancy vor un, from wutt her have heer’d of the brade.  Now zit quite, wull ’e Miss Luzzie, or a ’wunt goo on no vurder.  Vaine little tayl I’ll tull’ ee, if so be thee zits quite.  Wull, as I coom down the hill, I zeed a saight of volks astapping of the ro-udwai.  Arl on ’em wi’ girt goons, or two men out of dree wi’ ’em.  Rackon there wor dree score on ’em, tak smarl and beg togather laike; latt aloun the women and chillers; zum on em wi’ matches blowing, tothers wi’ flint-lacks.  ’Wutt be up now?’ I says to Bill Blacksmith, as had knowledge of me:  ’be the King acoomin?  If her be, do ’ee want to shutt ‘un?’

“‘Thee not knaw!’ says Bill Blacksmith, just the zame as I be a tullin of it:  ’whai, man, us expex Tam Faggus, and zum on us manes to shutt ‘un.’

“’Shutt ‘un wi’out a warrant!’ says I:  ’sure ’ee knaws better nor thic, Bill!  A man mayn’t shutt to another man, wi’out have a warrant, Bill.  Warship zed so, last taime I zeed un, and nothing to the contrairy.’

“‘Haw, haw!  Never frout about that,’ saith Bill, zame as I be tullin you; ’us has warrants and warships enow, dree or vour on ’em.  And more nor a dizzen warranties; fro’ut I know to contrairy.  Shutt ’un, us manes; and shutt ‘un, us will—­’ Whai, Miss Annie, good Lord, whuttiver maks ‘ee stear so?’

“Nothing at all, John,” our Annie answered; “only the horrible ferocity of that miserable blacksmith.”

“That be nayther here nor there,” John continued, with some wrath at his own interruption:  “Blacksmith knawed whutt the Squire had been; and veared to lose his own custom, if Squire tuk to shooin’ again.  Shutt any man I would myzell as intervared wi’ my trade laike.  ‘Lucky for thee,’ said Bill Blacksmith, ’as thee bee’st so shart and fat, Jan.  Dree on us wor a gooin’ to shutt ‘ee, till us zeed how fat thee waz, Jan.’

“‘Lor now, Bill!’ I answered ‘un, wi’ a girt cold swat upon me:  ’shutt me, Bill; and my own waife niver drame of it!’”

Here John Fry looked round the kitchen; for he had never said anything of the kind, I doubt; but now made it part of his discourse, from thinking that Mistress Fry was come, as she generally did, to fetch him.

“Wull done then, Jan Vry,” said the woman, who had entered quietly, but was only our old Molly.  “Wutt handsome manners thee hast gat, Jan, to spake so well of thy waife laike; after arl the laife she leads thee!”

“Putt thee pot on the fire, old ’ooman, and bile thee own bakkon,” John answered her, very sharply:  “nobody no raight to meddle wi’ a man’s bad ooman but himzell.  Wull, here was all these here men awaitin’, zum wi’ harses, zum wi’out; the common volk wi’ long girt guns, and tha quarlity wi’ girt broad-swords.  Who wor there?  Whay latt me zee.  There wor Squire Maunder,” here John assumed his full historical key, “him wi’ the pot to his vittle-place; and Sir Richard Blewitt shaking over the zaddle, and Squaire Sandford of Lee, him wi’ the long nose and one eye, and Sir Gronus Batchildor over to Ninehead Court, and ever so many more on ’em, tulling up how they was arl gooin’ to be promoted, for kitching of Tom Faggus.