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The miller went about saying, 'David, the nine best glasses from the corner cupboard! 'David, the corkscrew! 'David, whisk the tail of thy smock-frock round the inside of these quart pots afore you draw drink in 'em they be an inch thick in dust! 'David, lower that chimney-crook a couple of notches that the flame may touch the bottom of the kettle, and light three more of the largest candles! 'If you can't get the cork out of the jar, David, bore a hole in the tub of Hollands that's buried under the scroff in the fuel-house; d'ye hear?
When she came close and looked in she beheld indistinct forms racing up and down to the figure of the dance, the silence of their footfalls arising from their being overshoe in "scroff" that is to say, the powdery residuum from the storage of peat and other products, the stirring of which by their turbulent feet created the nebulosity that involved the scene.
If I knew for certain when he was coming I'd stroll out three or four miles to meet him and help carry anything for'n; though I suppose he's altered from the boy he was. They say he can talk French as fast as a maid can eat blackberries; and if so, depend upon it we who have stayed at home shall seem no more than scroff in his eyes." "Coming across the water to Budmouth by steamer, isn't he?"
"There, I never do seem to hear anything nowadays, my wold man bein' so ter'ble punished wi' the lumbaguey and not able to do a hand's turn for hisself. Why, I do assure 'ee I do scarce ever set foot out o' door wi'out it's to pick up a bit o' scroff, or a few logs an' poor ones they be when I've a-got 'em. I can hardly see my own hand for the smoke.
If I knew for certain when he was coming I'd stroll out three or four miles to meet him and help carry anything for'n; though I suppose he's altered from the boy he was. They say he can talk French as fast as a maid can eat blackberries; and if so, depend upon it we who have stayed at home shall seem no more than scroff in his eyes." "Coming across the water to Budmouth by steamer, isn't he?"
'Liddy, says she, 'bring indoors a few gallons, and I'll make some cider-wine. Sergeant, I was no more to her than a morsel of scroff in the fuel-house!" "I must go and find her out at once O yes, I see that I must go. Oak is head man still, isn't he?" "Yes, 'a b'lieve. And at Little Weatherbury Farm too. He manages everything."
"Do 'e thenk as how you could do aal that, young man?" I sed. "No disrespect to 'e though, vor that don't argify; but I could ketch hold on 'e by the scroff o' yer neck an' the seat o' yer breeches, an' pitch 'e slick into the roadway among the iron." "Look heer, Meyster Turmot, you'll hev to pay twelve shillin' moor avoor you gwoes out o' heer, or Lunnon won't hold 'e to-night."
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