“An’ th’ matron’s a motherly body wi’ childer o’ her own,” put in the hostess.
“An’ we needn’t lose sight o’ th’ lad,” added Mr. Redfearn.
“And I could spare an hour or two a day, when he’s big enough. I’ll make a course of study this very day. It’s the very thing. Good Molly, rem acu tetigisti, as we say in the classics.”
“Exactly,” assented the farmer. “By the way, Aleck, did yo’ say owt to Mr. Whitelock about th’ chrisenin’? Aw’d welly (well-nigh) forgetten it.”
“After th’ buryin’, t’ same day,” said Aleck the terse.
“Yo’ll be god-mother, Betty, na’ who’ll stand godfather?”
“I’ve always understood in case of a foundling it takes the finder’s name,” said Mr. Black.
“That’s Aleck,” said the landlady.
“Nay it wer’ Pinder theer,” protested Aleck.
“The very thing,” exclaimed Mr. Redfearn, smiting the table so the glasses danced. “Tom Pinder, fit him like a glove. We’ll weet his yed i’ glasses round an’ then whom (home) and bed, say I.”