LENNY (looking down sheepishly, and with a heightened glow over his face).—“Please, sir, that may come one of these days.”
PARSON.—“That’s right, Lenny. Let me see! why, you must be nearly a man. How old are you?”
Lenny looks up inquiringly at his mother.
PARSON.—“You ought to know, Lenny: speak for yourself. Hold your tongue, Mrs. Fairfield.”
LENNY (twirling his hat, and in great perplexity).—“Well, and there is Flop, neighbour Dutton’s old sheep-dog. He be very old now.”
PARSON.—“I am not asking Flop’s age, but your own.”
LENNY.—“‘Deed, sir, I have heard say as how Flop and I were pups together. That is, I—I—”
For the parson is laughing, and so is Mrs. Fairfield; and the haymakers, who have stood still to listen, are laughing too. And poor Lenny has quite lost his head, and looks as if he would like to cry.
PARSON (patting the curly locks, encouragingly).—“Never mind; it is not so badly answered, after all. And how old is Flop?”
LENNY.—“Why, he must be fifteen year and more..”