rale good custumer an a nice man I wish there was moore like im it ud be
the makin o' th' Parish we shal ave a nice lot o monie to dror from un at
Miklemes he be the best customer we ever ad an I toold th' Squoire wen ur
corled about the wuts as Mister Prigg ad orfered ten shillin a quorter
for un more un ee Ur dint seem to like un an rod away but we dooant o un
anythink Tom so I dont mind we must sell ware we ken mak moast monie I
spose Sampson be stronger an grander than ever it's my belief an I thinks
we shal do well wi un this Spring tell t' Joe not to stop out o' nites or
keep bad kumpany and to read evere nite wat the Wicker told un the fust
sarm an do thee read un Tom for its my bleef ur cant 'urt thee nuther."

"Humph!" said Bumpkin, "fust sarms indade. I got a lot o' time for
sarms, an' as for thic Joe--lor, lor, Nancy, whatever will thee say, I
wonder, when thee knows he's gone for a soger--a sarm beant much good to
un now; he be done for."

And then Mr. Bumpkin went and looked out of the window, and thought over
all the good news of Mrs. Bumpkin's letter, and mentally calculated that
even up to this time Mr. Prigg's account would come to enough to pay the
year's rent.

Going to law seemed truly a most advantageous business. Here he had got
two shillings a quarter more for the oats than the Squire had offered,
and a pound more for the colt. Prigg was a famous customer, and no doubt
would buy the hay. And, strange to say, just as Mr. Bumpkin thought
this, he happened to turn over the last page of the letter, and there he
saw what was really a Postscript.

"Halloo!" says he, "my dear, here be moore on't; lookee 'ere."

"So there is," answered Lucy; "let's have a look." And thus she read:--

"The klover cut out well it made six lode the little rik an four pun
nineteen The Squoire ony offered four pun ten so in corse I let Mister
Prigg ave un."

"Well done, Nancy, thee be famous. Now, thic big rik'll fetch moore'n
thic."

Such cheering intelligence put Mr. Bumpkin in good heart in spite of his
witness's desertion. Joe was a good deal, but he wasn't money, and if he
liked to go for a soger, he must go; but, in Mr. Bumpkin's judgment, he
would very soon be tired of it, and wish himself back at his fireside.

"Now, you must write to Mrs. Bumpkin," said Lucy.

"Thee'll write for I, my dear; won't thee?"

"If you like," said Lucy. And so, after dinner, when she had changed her
dress, she proce