George.  Nor me neither, master.  Never heared nor seed such a thing.  But mistress, her says, you can’t sit a maid from town at table unless there be poultry afore of she.  They be rare nesh in their feeding, maids from town, so mistress do say.

Miles.  That just brings us to our little matter, George.  When is it that you expect the young lady?

George.  The boxes of they be stacked mountains high in the bedroom since yesterday.  And I count as the maids will presently come on their own feet from where the morning coach do set them down.

Luke.  Nay, but there’s only one maid what’s expected.

George.  Miss Clara, what’s master’s sister; and the serving wench of she.

Miles.  Well, George, ’twas a great day for your master when old Madam Lovel took little Miss Clara to be bred up as one of the quality.

George.  A water plant do grow best by the stream, and a blossom, from the meadows, midst the grass.  Let each sort bide in the place where ’twas seeded.

Miles.  No, no, George, you don’t know what you’re talking about.  A little country wench may bloom into something very modish and elegant, once taken from her humble home and set amongst carpets of velvet and curtains of satin.  You’ll see.

George.  ’Twould be a poor thing for any one to be so worked upon by curtains, nor yet carpets, master.

Miles.  Take my word for it, George, Ox Lease will have to smarten up a bit for this young lady.  I know the circles she has been moving in, and ’tis to the best of everything that she has been used.

George. [Rising.] That’s what mistress do say.  And that’s why I be sent along down to Brook with haymaking going on and all.  Spring chicken with sparrow grass be the right feeding for such as they.  So mistress do count.

Miles.  Stop a moment, George.  You have perhaps heard the letters from Miss Clara discussed in the family from time to time.

George.  Miss Clara did never send but two letters home in all the while she was gone.  The first of them did tell as how th’ old lady was dead and had left all of her fortune to Miss Clara.  And the second was to say as how her was coming back to the farm this morning.

Luke.  And hark you here, George, was naught mentioned about Miss Clara’s fine suitors in neither of them letters?

George.  That I cannot say, Master Jenner.

Miles.  Nothing of their swarming thick around her up in London,
George?

George.  They may be swarming by the thousand for aught as I do know.  They smells gold as honey bees do smell the blossom.  Us’ll have a good few of them a-buzzing round the farm afore we’re many hours older, so I counts.

Miles.  Well, George, that’ll liven up the place a bit, I don’t doubt.