Part 61 (2/2)

What, Mr. Dobson? A butcher's frock?

DOBSON.

Noa, Miss Dora; as blue as----

DORA.

Bluebell, harebell, speedwell, bluebottle, succory, forget-me-not?

DOBSON.

Noa, Miss Dora; as blue as----

DORA.

The sky? or the sea on a blue day?

DOBSON.

Naay then. I mean'd they be as blue as violets.

DORA.

Are they?

DOBSON.

Theer ye goas agean, Miss, niver believing owt I says to ye--hallus a-fobbing ma off, tho' ye knaws I love ye. I warrants ye'll think moor o' this young Squire Edgar as ha' coomed among us--the Lord knaws how --ye'll think more on 'is little finger than hall my hand at the haltar.

DORA.

Perhaps, Master Dobson. I can't tell, for I have never seen him. But my sister wrote that he was mighty pleasant, and had no pride in him.

DOBSON.

He'll be arter you now, Miss Dora.

DORA.

Will he? How can I tell?

DOBSON.

He's been arter Miss Eva, haan't he?

DORA.

Not that I know.

DOBSON.

Didn't I spy 'em a-sitting i' the woodbine harbour togither?

DORA.

What of that? Eva told me that he was taking her likeness. He's an artist.

DOBSON.

What's a hartist? I doant believe he's iver a 'eart under his waistcoat. And I tells ye what, Miss Dora: he's no respect for the Queen, or the parson, or the justice o' peace, or owt. I ha' heard 'im a-gawin' on 'ud make your 'air--G.o.d bless it!--stan' on end. And wuss nor that. When theer wur a meeting o' farmers at Littlechester t'other daay, and they was all a-crying out at the bad times, he cooms up, and he calls out among our oan men, 'The land belongs to the people!'

DORA.

And what did _you_ say to that?

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