Lastly came young Richard Assheton, of Middleton, and Squire Nicholas, both in high spirits, and laughing and chatting together.
"A brave day for the morris-dancers, cousin Dick," observed Nicholas Assheton, as they approached the green, "and plenty of folk to witness the sport.

Half my lads from Downham are here, and I see a good many of your Middleton chaps among them.

How are you, Farmer Tetlow ?" he added to a stout, hale-looking man, with a blooming country woman by his side--"brought your pretty young wife to the rush-bearing, I see." "Yeigh, squoire," rejoined the farmer, "an mightily pleased hoo be wi' it, too." "Happy to hear if, Master Tetlow," replied Nicholas, "she'll be better pleased before the day's over, I'll warrant her.

I'll dance a round with her myself in the hall at night." "Theere now, Meg, whoy dunna ye may t' squoire a curtsy, wench, an thonk him," said Tetlow, nudging his pretty wife, who had turned away, rather embarrassed by the free gaze of the squire.

Nicholas, however, did not wait for the curtsy, but went away, laughing, to overtake Richard Assheton, who had walked on.
"Ah, here's Frank Garside," he continued, espying another rustic acquaintance.