The old man began to cry.
"'Twas my poor Janie did it last. She only died six months ago. And no neighbours be near—only the farm. Bill—he does what he can, but he be a bit clumsy with his fingers; and I be terrible crippled with rheumaticks. Thank 'ee kindly, my dear. You be new to these parts, I reckon."
"I live with my missuses at Ivy Cottage," said Peggy, as she deftly peeled the potatoes and dropped them in the pot. "I comes from London, I does; but, oh my! What a sight the country be this arternoon!"
"What be the matter with it?"
"The matter! Why, the sun be shinin' and lambs be playin' and primroses a-growin'. Look at my bunch! Did you ever see sich flowers? They hangs 'em round a black figure in London—on his birthday, I believe. That's how I knows 'em. Beckyfield his name be. Funny his name bein' a kind o' field; I never thought on that afore. Must have somethin' to do with the primroses.
"Oh my! You oughter walk out, mister; 'twould cheer you up. There's a kind of happy, wake-up feel outdoors to-day. And the birds are a-singin' and a-flyin' up miles above yer head. There now, mister; tell me where to get a drop o' water and I'll put the pot on for yer."
"'Tis to the pump outside."
Peggy found the pump and placed the pot on the fire.
"I'll ask my missus to let me come and see you one day," she said, with a confidential little nod. "There's a good bit o' news and talk I could give you about London."
"Ah, do 'ee come in agen, me dear. I be a poor lone old man, and no one comes nigh me."