"Oh, we at Norton Bury are used to floods."
"Are they ever very serious?"
"Have been—but not in my time. Now, John, tell me what you have been doing all winter."
It was a brief and simple chronicle—of hard work, all day over, and from the Monday to the Saturday—too hard work to do anything of nights, save to drop into the sound, dreamless sleep of youth and labour.
"But how did you teach yourself to read and add up, then?"
"Generally at odd minutes going along the road. It's astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it. And then I had Sunday afternoons besides. I did not think it wrong—"
"No," said I; decisively. "What books have you got through?"
"All you sent—Pilgrim's Progress, Robinson Crusoe, and the Arabian Nights. That's fine, isn't it?" and his eyes sparkled.
"Any more?"
"Also the one you gave me at Christmas. I have read it a good deal."