“Ban’t you surprised I could turn it out?”
“That I be. I’d never have thought ’twas in ’e. So forehanded, tu! A’most afore them poor things be cold.”
“’Tis the forehandedness I prides myself ’pon. Some of us doan’t know all that’s in me yet. But they’ll live to see it.”
“I knaw right well they will.”
“This’ll ’maze mother to-morrow.”
“’Twill, sure ’nough.”
“Would ’e like me to read it just wance more wi’out stoppin’, Phoebe?”
“No, dear love, not now. Give it to us all arter breakfast in the marnin’.”
“So I will then; an’ take it right away to the auctioneer the minute after.”
He put his papers away in the drawer of the kitchen table and retired. Uneasy sleep presently overtook him and long he tossed and turned, murmuring of his astonishment at his own powers with a pen.