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The outer door of Browhead Farm was pushed inwards, and old Daffady's head and face appeared. "Come in, Daffady please come in!" Miss Fountain's tone was of the friendliest. The cow-man obeyed her. He came in, holding his battered hat in his hand. "Missie A thowt I'd tell yo as t' rain had cleared oop yo cud take a bit air verra weel, if yo felt to wish it."
All her old notions of Catholics as gay people, who practised a free Sunday and allowed you to enjoy yourself, had been long overthrown by the Catholicism of Bannisdale. But this this might be Daffady's Methodism! "So that is why you would not take us to Whinthorpe the other day to see that London company?" "It was an unsuitable play," he said hastily.
If cat's loose, that's aboot what!" Laura's face lit up. Very few things now had power to please her but Daffady's dialect, and Daffady's scorns. "And so all the world is idle but you farm people?" "A doan't say egsackly idle," said Daffady, with a good-humoured tolerance. "But the factory-hands, Daffady?"
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