"That's what I say. But he's all for the wilds again."
Margery talked of the past. Huntingdon had been a spot on her great holiday pilgrimage with Jacob, before they were wed, and every feature of that long day's ramble her mind held precious still. The old radiance of the image was long departed, yet force of a habit, that had extended through years, still woke an afterglow of interest in certain scenes when she came among them.
She talked of Benny's father, whom Sally had not known.
Tea was prepared and, while they were eating it, Bullstone and his son arrived on horseback. They joined the meal and presently, when the young people were off again, Benny repeated his determination to depart.
Jacob heard the alternative courses and advised him to stop in England, for the sake of his family. Then he said a thing that surprised Margery.
"So like as not I'll lease the warrens when you go—if ever you really do go. I'm very much set on Huntingdon. It's the sort of lonely spot that does me good. If I were to take it, I'd employ a couple of men to live here and keep a room for myself—for sake of health and peace."
"Easier to say you'll employ men than to do it," answered Benny, "Took me a month of Sundays to find a boy. The warrens are very near played out in my opinion. There's not the head of rabbits used to run in my father's time. Nobody will ever lease 'em again if you don't."
Jacob discoursed of Benny's two boys and asked their names. Then Margery was shocked.
"Haven't got names yet," confessed Benny. "We can't come to no agreement. Missis wants a grand sort of name, like 'Fortescue' or 'Champernowne,' and I say 'Fred' after father, or 'Thomas' or 'Richard.' No good giving children silly names."
"I lived along with the Champernownes as under housemaid," explained Sally; "and 'tis a valiant name."