nd whether th' Lord hath given
it to thee or not, I'm glad I have 't not," quoth she; for she had heard
it read, in some meeting whither her mother would sometimes take her, of
how the fowls o' the air did lodge i' th' branches o' the mustard-plant.
Well, by'r lay'kin, th' village hath ne'er forgot that to this day, and
that I'll prove thee when we be through drinking!

What hath become o' her? Go to! Sure thou knowest that? Well, well 'tis
a tale to make a play of. I've often thought, had Master Shakespeare
known of 't, how he would 'a' fashioned it into a jolly play. Tell thee
of 't? What! art in earnest? By the mass, then, thou must drink again.
Come, fill up, fill up. What there! a cup o' the amber drink for Master
Turnip!

Let me see: how old was th' lass when thou didst set forth on thy
jauntings? Some two years, methinks. And she was fourteen on the first
day o' March i' that year wherein she did sauce old Butter with some o'
's own wit for gibing at her for a tomboy. O' my word, man, th' old
fellow was not far i' th' wrong. If e'er th' angel o' life did make an
error i' th' distributing o' souls, 'twas on the night Keren was brought
into this world. And a say that with a cause, moreover; for th' same
night, mark you, one Mistress Mouldy, over the way, was brought to bed
o' a man-child. That's neither here nor there. Herein doth lie the
singularity. That child did grow up to knit stockings i' th' door-way
like any wench; Peter Mouldy's th' name, and a plays a part i' th' story
I'm about to relate to thee. Ne'er in all thy travels hast thou e'er
seen so crack-brain a wench as my Keren! Lord! it set thy head to
swimming did she but enter a room. She had no more stability o' motion
than a merry-go-round; and she was that brown, a bun looked pale i' th'
comparison, when she did lift it to her mouth to eat it. A strapping
jade, and strong as any lad o' her age i' th' village. In her seeming
she took neither after her mother nor after me, though she was a comely
wench as wenches go--hair as black as a January night in stormy weather,
and eyes as big and as bright and as yellow (o' my word)--as yellow as
two crown pieces! They looked out from under her thick eyebrows like
sunlight peeping from a heavy cloud. And she was made like a lad for
suppleness. Taller than her mother by head and shoulders, and within a
full inch o' my forelock. By'r lay'kin! how she could sing too! She
would troll thee a ditty i' th' voice o' a