"
"Yes, they were good," admitted the farmer. And Dicky must come in, and
have a drink, and they'd talk about the oxen. So in they went to the
farmer's house, and long they talked, and the more they talked the more
the farmer wanted those bullocks; but the more he wanted them the more
he tried to beat Dicky down. But Dicky was in no haste to sell; he could
do better at Carlisle, said he; and the upshot, of course, was that he
got the price he asked. And then said Dicky, when the money was paid,
and they had had another drink or two, and a mighty supper:
"That was a bonnie mare ye were riding."
"Aye," said the farmer. "An' she's as good as she's bonnie. There's no
her like in a' Cumberland."
"Wad ye sell?"
"Sell!" cried the farmer. "No for the value o' the hale countryside. Her
like canna be found. Sell! Never i' this world."
"Well, well," said Dicky, "I canna blame ye. She's a graund mare. But
they're kittle times, thir; I wad keep her close, or it micht happen
your stable micht be empty some morning."
"Stable!" roared the fanner boisterously. "Hey! man, ah pit her in no
stable. She sleeps wi' me, man, in my ain room. Ah'm a bachelor, ah am,
an' there's non' to interfere wi' me, and ivvery nicht she's tied to my
ain bed-post.
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