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T' maister's down i' t' fowld. There's nobbut t' missis. I'll hae no hend wi't," muttered the head, vanishing. Then a young man, without coat and shouldering a pitchfork, hailed me to follow him, and showed me into the apartment where I had been formerly received with a gruff "Sit down; he'll be in soon." In the room sat the "missis," motionless and mute.
'T' maister's down i' t' fowld. Go round by th' end o' t' laith, if ye went to spake to him. 'Is there nobody inside to open the door? I hallooed, responsively. 'There's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll not oppen 't an ye mak' yer flaysome dins till neeght. 'Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph? 'Nor-ne me! I'll hae no hend wi't, muttered the head, vanishing.
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