John.  ’Tis Master William Gardner, what’s the talk of the country for miles around, mistress.  And that he be.

Laura.  Master William Gardner!  What, he of Road Farm?

John.  The very same, mistress.  And as grand a gentleman as anyone might wish for to see.

Laura.  Yes—­I seem to have heard something told about him, but I don’t rightly remember what ’twas.

John.  You may have heard tell as the finest field of beans this season, that’s his.

Laura.  I don’t think ’twas of beans that I did hear.

John.  Or that ’twas his spotted hilt what fetched the highest price of any in the market Saturday?

Laura.  No, ’twasn’t that neither.

John.  Or that folks do come as thick as flies on a summer’s day from all parts of the country for to buy the wheat what he do grow.  Ah, and before ’tis cut or like to be, they be a fighting for it, all of them, like a pack of dogs with a bone.  So ’tis.

Laura.  ’Twasn’t that, I don’t think.

John.  Or ‘twas that th’ old missis—­she as is mother to Master William—­her has a tongue what’s sharper nor longer than any vixen’s going.  But that’s between you and I, missis.

Laura.  Ah—­’Twas that I did hear tell of.  Now I remember it.

John.  But Master William—­the tongue what he do keep be smooth as honey, and a lady might do as she likes with him if one got the chance.

Laura.  Indeed?  He must be a pleasant sort of a gentleman.

John.  For he could be led with kindness same as anything else.  But try for to drive him, as old Missis do—­and very likely ’tis hoofed as you’ll get for your pains.

Laura.  I like a man with some spirit to him, myself.

John.  Ah, Master William has a rare spirit to him, and that he has.  You should hear him when th’ old Missis’s fowls be got into his flower garden.  ’Tis sommat as is not likely to be forgot in a hurry.  That ’tisn’t.

Laura.  You carry a handsome nosegay of blossoms there, John.  Are they from your master’s garden?

John.  Ah, there’re not amiss.  I helped for to raise they too.

Laura.  And to whom are you taking them now, John?

John.  To the lady what my master’s a-courting of, mistress.

Laura.  And whom may that be, John?

John.  Why, ’tis yourself, mistress.

Laura.  Me, John?  Why, I’ve never clapped eyes on Master William
Gardner so far as I know of.

John.  But he’ve clapped eyes on you, mistress—­’twas at Church last Sunday.  And ’tis not a bit of food, nor a drop of drink, nor an hour of sleep, as Master William have taken since.

Laura.  O, you do surprise me, John?