“Quite, poor young lady, as if she had made up her mind to be an old maid; though I know as how she refused Squire Knyvett of the Grange waiting for your honour’s return, mayhap!”
“Lead out the horse, Bunting; but stay, I am sorry to see you with a crutch; what’s the cause? no accident, I trust?”
“Merely rheumatics—will attack the youngest of us; never been quite myself since I went a travelling with your honour—augh!—without going to Lunnon arter all. But I shall be stronger next year, I dare to say—!”
“I hope you will, Bunting. And Miss Lester lives alone, you say?”
“Ay; and for all she be so religious, the poor about do bless her very footsteps. She does a power of good; she gave me half-a-guinea, your honour; an excellent young lady, so sensible like!”
“Thank you; I can tighten the girths!—so!—there, Bunting, there’s something for old companion’s sake.”
“Thank your honour; you be too good, always was—baugh! But I hopes your honour be a coming to live here now; ‘twill make things smile agin!”
“No, Bunting, I fear not,” said Walter, spurring through the gates of the yard; “Good day.”
“Augh, then,” cried the Corporal, hobbling breathlessly after him, “if so be as I shan’t see your honour agin, at which I am extramely consarned, will your honour recollect your promise, touching the ‘tato ground? The steward, Master Bailey, ‘od rot him, has clean forgot it—augh!”
“The same old man, Bunting, eh? Well, make your mind easy, it shall be done.”