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"'Can't stay to causey, Master Zeb, wi' all the best horn-handled knives to be took out o' blue-butter 'gainst this evenin's courant. Besides, you called me a liar last week." "So you be. But I'll believe 'ee this time." "Well, I'll tell 'ee this much for you look a very handsome jowter i' that new cart. If I were you, I'd be careful that gay furriner didn steal more'n my name"
Not three months back his mother's brother goes dead an' leaves en a legacy, 'pon which, he sets up as jowter han'some painted cart, tidy little mare, an' all complete, besides a bravish sum laid by. A man of substance, sirs a life o' much price, as you may say. Aw, Zeb, my son, 'tis hard to lose 'ee, but 'tis harder still now you're in such a very fair way o' business!"
She divined the passion behind these words, and she longed to get a sight of it, to catch an echo of the voice that had sung beneath her window, an hour before. But when he resumed, it was in the same bloodless and contemptuous tone. "Your father was very anxious that I should supplant this young jowter " "O Lord! I never said it."
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