"Well, I never liked Hillsborough folk much--poor, mean-visaged tykes they be--but now I do hate 'em.

What, blow up a decent young man like you, and a well-favored, and hair like jet, and eyes in your head like sloes! But that's their ground of spite, I warrant me; the nasty, ugly, dirty dogs.

Well, you may just snap your fingers at 'em all now.
They don't come out so far as this; and, if they did, stouter men grows in this village than any in Hillsborough: and I've only to hold up my finger, for as little as I be, and they'd all be well ducked in father's horsepond, and then flogged home again with a good cart-whip well laid on.

And, another thing, whatever we do, Squire, he will make it good in law: he is gentle, and we are simple; but our folk and his has stood by each other this hundred year and more.

But, la, I run on so, and you was to write a letter again the doctor came back.