Avenin', Will; what's yure glass o' trouble?
FREMAN. Drop o' eider, clove, an' dash o' gin. There's blood in the
sky to-night.
BURLACOMBE. Ah! We'll 'ave fine weather now, with the full o' the
mune.
FREMAN. Dust o' wind an' a drop or tu, virst, I reckon. 'Earl t'
nuse about curate an' 'is wife?
GODLEIGH. No, indeed; an' don't yu tell us. We'm Christians 'ere in
this village.
FREMAN. 'Tain't no very Christian nuse, neither. He's sent 'er off
to th' doctor. "Go an' live with un," 'e says; "my blessin' on ye."
If 'er'd a-been mine, I'd 'a tuk the whip to 'er. Tam Jarland's
maid, she yeard it all. Christian, indeed! That's brave
Christianity! "Goo an' live with un!" 'e told 'er.
BURLACOMBE. No, no; that's, not sense--a man to say that. I'll not
'ear that against a man that bides in my 'ouse.
FREMAN. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, scared-like,
behind the curtain. At it they went, and parson 'e says: "Go," 'e
says, "I won't kape 'ee from 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee,
as yu don't wish it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's maid
told my maid, an' my maid told my missis. If that's parson's talk,
'tes funny work goin' to church.
TRUSTAFORD. [Brooding] 'Tes wonderful quare, zurely.
FREMAN. Tam Jarland's fair mad wi' curate for makin' free wi' his
maid's skylark.
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