Bluebell, harebell, speedwell, bluebottle, succory, forget-me-not?
DOBSON.
Noae, Miss Dora; as blue as----
DORA.
The sky? or the sea on a blue day?
DOBSON.
Naaey then. I meaen'd they be as blue as violets.
DORA.
Are they?
DOBSON.
Theer ye goaes ageaen, 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, haaen'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 doaent 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.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230