“Such as him would be the first to grumble if strawberries went up a few pence the basket.
“What would the fruit-growers, the hop-growers and goodness knows who else, do without us?
“Can a farmer keep on all the year the hands who help at the busy season? No! you know as well as I do it wouldn’t pay him.
“We have what we call our ‘runs,’ you know,—at one time we do a bit of potato planting and cleaning, afterwards we travel to the strawberry country, then we go on haymaking and field pea-picking.
“I’ve told you what we do for a living,” he continued; “might I ask you what you do?”
“Well,” I answered, “I am what your folk call a por-engro, and I suppose that is correct.”
“And you are writing a lil about us?” he queried.
“Yes,” said I; “at least I hope to do so.”
“And they tell me you go about alone among us; why, some wouldn’t feel safe.”