"You work very fast," said I, as he reached for a mammoth flint.
"Aye," he said. "But it come easy, sir, after so many year."
"Have you always done this?" said Daphne.
The old fellow plucked the gauze from his brow and touched his battered hat.
"Naught else, m'm. Nine-and-seventy year come Michaelmas I've kep' the Oxford road. An' me father before me."
"That's a wonderful record," said I amazedly. "And you carry your years well."
"Thank you, sir. There's a many as tells me that. I'll be ninety-one in the month o' June. An' can't write me own name, sir."
"That's no shame," said I. "Tell me, you must remember the coaches."
"That do I. They was took off my road just afore I started breakin' meself, but long afore that I used to bring me father 'is dinner, an' I remember them well. Many a time I've watched the 'Tantivy' go by, an' Muster Cracknell drivin'. Always nodded to father, 'e did, an' passed the time o' day. An' father, 'e'd wave 'is 'ammer, an' call me an' tell me 'is name, an' what a fine coachman 'e were. 'Twas a Birmin'ham coach, the 'Tantivy,' but Muster Cracknell used to 'and over at Oxford. London to Oxford was 'is stretch, sir. An' back."
"Isn't that wonderful?" said Daphne.