It's two years since you came to live in the glen, and you can't say as you've not understood my meaning plain since the first I saw you; it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be took care of by a man.

And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so bad.' 'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is.

I loved ye too true for that.' 'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is?
There's troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest.

What's to hinder?
I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like.

God knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again; but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a caring for me, I says,--"Let's be cried in the church," so as your mother could die happy, if die she must.