I looks about to get a lad to help her in
her work, seeing as 'twere too much for one wench. And, Lord! th'
trouble I had! Ten lads did I try, one right after th' other; and one
would be saucy, and another dull, and another would take 't into his
pumpkin head to fall in love wi' th' lass; and all o' 'em lazy. But,
God-a-mercy! how's a man to tell a lazy lad till he ha' tried
him?--unless it be old Butter. Ha! ha! I ha' just minded me o' th' way
he used to treat th' lads that came to Amhurste to hire for
under-gardeners. He would stand with 's owlish old visage a-set on 's
hoe-handle, for all th' world like a fantastic head carved out o' a
turnip and set on a stick, and a would let th' lad go on with 's story
o' how Dame This commended him for that, and o' how Dame That commended
him for this, and o' how a had worked under my lord So-and-So's
head-gardener and in my lady So-and-So's own hot-houses; and when a had
got through, never a word would old Butter say, but a would just step
round behind th' lad, as solemn as a gravedigger on a cold day, and a
would lift up th' tail o' 's doublet and look at th' seat o' 's
breeches. And if they were fairly worn a would hire th' lad; but if an
they were much worn a would say, "No work dost thou get from me, my
lad," would a say, "thou sittest down too often to work for Anthony
Butter"--so would a say--every word o't just as I ha' told thee. Ha! ha!
And all the time as sober as a coroner inspecting a corse. Ha! ha! ha!
Methinks I can see him now--th' old zany.

Well, well, a was a good man, was Anthony Butter; and if a was a bit
puffed up with 's own importance, a's charity ne'er got in a like
condition that it did not bring forth some kind act.

Well, th' months swung round, and 'twas nigh to Martlemas in that same
year, and one day as I sat i' th' forge door, a-swearing roundly to
myself concerning my lame arm, and how that 'twould not mend, up comes
galloping a man, like one distraught, and a child on th' saddle afore
him, and a flings himself down with th' child in 's arms (making no
shift whate'er to hold th' horse, which gallops on with th' reins
swinging), and a cries out, a-setting of th' child on my knee--a cries
out,

"For God's sake, help me! My child hath been bit by a mad dog! Help me
in some way, for th' love of God!"

And I saw that 'twas Robert Hacket that crouched and quivered at my knee
like a hurt hound, and th' child as like to him as one leaf on a tree is