The Escape of the Notorious Sir William Heans by William Gosse Hay

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At four in the afternoon, Heans, in frogged pelisse and travelling cap--his horse saddled on his arm--still paced the yard, awaiting Oughtryn. He arrived at about half-past; unlatching the gate and jogging in gloomily on his horse. Heans, gathering his reins as the other's low-crowned straw appeared over the wall, got into the saddle as he came in.

-"Now, where's the child, honour," asked Oughtryn, passing the gate: "making puddings, odrabit her, when she might have her pleasure-horse and elegant gallanting! I hope she's not been keeping your honour argufying again, and begging herself off. The tea-kettle for company and drudging about--that's her green bay tree! A lowly spirit! Poor chit--poor 'omely one--I asks pardon for thinking better of her! If she 'ad age, she'd know how reasonable she was getting her pleasuring!"

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