Susan.  The wind must have lifted it from me, mistress, for I was running ever so fast.

Mrs. Gardner.  Do you expect me to believe that, Susan—­and not a breath stirring the flowers or trees, or anything?

Susan.  ’Twas the lady I met as—­as—­as I was coming across the field from feeding the fowls.

Mrs. Gardner.  What lady, Susan?

Susan.  Her from Luther’s, mistress.

John.  And what of she; out with it, wench.

Susan.  She did tell I to say as she be coming along as fast as she may after Master William.

William. [As though to himself with an accent of despair.] No.  No.

John.  There, master, didn’t I tell you so?

William. [Very nervously.] What did you tell me, John?

John.  That, let her abide and her’d find the senses of she presently.

William.  O I’m blessed if I do know what to do.

[John takes his master’s arm and draws him aside.

John.  You pluck up your heart, my dearest master, and court she hard.  And in less nor a six months ’tis along to church as you’ll be a-driving she.

William.  But John, ’tis t’other with the cherry ribbons that has taken all my fancy.

John.  No, no, Master William.  You take and court the mistress.  You take and tame the young vixen, and get the gold and silver from she.  T’other wench is but the serving maid.

Susan.  The lady’s coming along ever so quickly, master.

[Mrs. Gardner, rising and folding up her knitting.

Mrs. Gardner.  You’ll please to come indoors with me, William, and I’ll brush you down and make you look more presentable than you appear just now.  Susan, you’ll get a cap to you head at once, do you hear me!  And John, take and water master’s seedlings.  Any one can stand with their mouths open and their eyes as big as gooseberries if they’ve a mind.  ’Tis not particular sharp to do so.  Come, William.

William.  I’d like a word or two with John first, Mother.

Mrs. Gardner.  You come along with me this moment, William.  ’Tis a too many words by far that you’ve had with John already, and much good they’ve done to you.  Come you in with me.

William.  O I’m blessed if I do know whether ’tis on my head or on my feet that I’m standing.

[William follows his mother slowly and gloomily into the house.

John.  Well—­if ever there was a poor, tormented animal ’tis the master.

Susan.  Ah, mistress should have been born a drover by rights.  ’Tis a grand nagging one as her’d have made, and sommat what no beast would ever have got the better of.

John.  I wouldn’t stand in Master William’s shoes, not if you was to put me knee deep in gold.