"Oh, no. He always sleeps late. Have a cup of hot coffee."
"An' that's just what I will. Well, the lad's lucky that he was no' a day later, he'd been stumped for good. By the nose of St. Andrew, I never saw so much snow fall in a little time. An' it's dark as the chimney back."
"The snow is white," interposed Daffodil.
"Ah, ye're a cunnin' bairn. But put a lot of it together, and it turns the air. The coffee's fine, it warm the cockles of one's heart."
"What are they?"
"Oh, the little fellys that get hot, an' cold, an' keep the blood racin' round. And have delight bottled up to give out now and then when one is well treated."
Daffodil nodded. She was not going to say she did not understand.
"An' the b'y? He wants fat, sure. The country's made a poor shoat out of him. Well, I must go back, shovelin' for the path's about grown up. The boss out to the barn?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'll kem over agin, an' give him a hand."