d her
ladyship avore yu. I mind _her_ when her was a little maid, and pretty
ways her had wi' her, zame as now. None zo ramshacklin' as yu du be,
Miss Zairy."

"There's nobody about that he doesn't remember as a child," said
Sarah, apologetically. "He's so old, you see. He doesn't remember how
old he is, and nobody can tell him. But he knows he was born in the
reign of George the Third, because his mother told him so; and he
remembers his father coming in with news of the Battle of Waterloo, So
I think he must be about ninety."

"Lard, mar like a hunderd year old, I be," said Happy Jack, offended.
"And luke how I du wark yit. Yif I'd 'a give up my wark, I shude 'a
bin in the churchyard along o' the idlers, that 'a shude." He chuckled
and winked. "I du be a turble vunny man," quavered the thin falsetto
voice. "They be niver a dune a laughin' along o' my jokes. An' I du
remember Zur Timothy's vather zo well as Zur Timothy hisself, though
'ee bin dead nigh sixty year. Lard, 'ee was a bad 'un, was y' ould
squire. An old devil. That's what 'ee was."

"He only means Sir Timothy's father had a bad temper," explained
Sarah. "It's quite true."

"Ah, was it timper?" said Jack, sarcastically. "I cude tell 'ee zum
tales on 'un. There were a right o' way, zur, acrust the mead thereby,
as the volk did claim. And 'a zays, 'A'll putt a stop tu 'un,' 'a
zays. And him zat on a style, long zide the tharn bush, and 'a took
'ee's gun, and 'a zays, 'A'll shute vust man are maid as cumes acrust
thiccy vield,' 'a zays. And us knowed 'un wude du 't tu. And 'un
barred the gate, and there t'was."

He laughed till the tears ran down his face, brown as gingerbread, and
wrinkled as a monkey's.

"Mr. Crewys is in a hurry, Jack," said Sarah. "He's only just arrived
from London, and he's walked all the way from Brawnton."

"'Tain't but a stip vur a vine vellar like 'ee, and wi' a vine maiden
like yu du be grown, var tu kip 'ee company," said Happy Jack. "But
'ee'll be in a yurry tu git tu Barracombe, and refresh hisself, in arl
this turble yeat. When the zun du search, the rain du voller."

"I dare say you want a glass of beer yourself," said John, producing a
coin from his pocket.

"No, zur, I doan't," said the road-mender, unexpectedly. "Beer doan't
agree wi' my inzide, an' it gits into my yead, and makes me proper
jolly, zo the young volk make game on me. But I cude du wi' a drop
o' zider zur; and drink your health and the young lady's,