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Then did young Hacket come to th’ fence and lean upon it with both his arms, and support his chin with a thumb on either side o’t, and saith he,

“Methinks she’d ‘a’ made a better warrior than a wife,” saith he; “but when she hath ta’en off the edge o’ her warlike spirit in fighting for her freedom,” saith he, “why, then,” saith he, “I’ll marry her!” So saith he–every word o’t. By my troth, comrade, an I had not had so much the advantage by having my nippers in my hand, I would ‘a’ thrashed him then and there. But, “fair play” being my motto, and having my nippers, as I saith, I forbore; yea, I forbore, and walked away unseen of him. And, o’ my word, I was much angered with myself for not being more angry with th’ wench.

“For,” saith I, out loud, that I might be impressed by the sound as well as by the knowledge o’ th’ fact–“for,” saith I, a-hammering away on a shoe for Joe Pebbles’s brown nag King Edward (though I had often reasoned with Joe on account o’ th’ name, first because o’ its irreverence, second on account o’ th’ horse not being that kind o’ a horse, as ’twas a mare)–“for,” saith I, as I made th’ shoe, saith I, “’tis sure a great wickedness to steal a lass’s sweetheart away from her!” saith I. And so ’twas; but, for all I could do, I could not feel angered with the hussy.

But that day when she did fetch me my dinner, being finished, I did pull down th’ sleeves o’ my shirt, and wiped off my leathern apron, and quoth I to her,

“Lass, come here and sit upon my knee.”

So she comes right willingly, being fond o’ me to an extent that did oft seem to astony the mother that bore her (seeing that she was fond o’ naught save her own way); she comes, and she perches upon my knee (as sometimes thou shalt see a hawk rest wings on a bull’s back), and she kittles my throat with her long brown fingers, and hugs me about the neck (the jade! a knew I was for scolding her), and saith she, “Well, father, here be I.” Methinks I can hear her say it now, as soft as any little toddler come for a kiss. “Here be I,” she saith; and with that she fills all my face with her curls (the jade! a saw that in my eye which a did not care to face). “Here be I,” saith she.

“Ay,” saith I, speaking in a gruff voice; “and now that here thou be,” saith I, “I’ll tell thee what I want of thee.”

“Thou canst want naught that I will not do,” saith she. (The jade! a had a way with her to ‘a’ made Bess herself yearn for matrimony.) But I was stanch; I was stanch, comrade. Saith I,

“Methinks thy mother was right to speak to thee as yesternight she did,” saith I; “for I saw thee strive to graft a pear-tree with a branch o’ th’ tree o’ knowledge,” saith I.

“Then,” saith she, hot as my forge all in a breath, and bouncing from my knee–“then thou wast an eavesdropper!” saith she.

“Even as the Lord afore me,” saith I, not over-pleased at her sauciness. “And being in some sort thy Creator, and thou having set up for thyself an Eden in my garden,” saith I, “who hath a greater right than I to watch over thee?” saith I.

Then she not answering me, thus did I continue:

“Why dost thou not take unto thyself an husband,” quoth I, “to do both thyself and thy parents a credit?”

“Show me such an one,” saith she, “and I do promise thee to wed him.”

“There, then,” quoth I, “is Davy Short hose, the poulterer–“

“A bangled-eared buffoon as ever lived!” quoth she; “and a fool into the bargain.”