“The young man, sir, is my son John, and the dog with him is his dog Joe.”
“And what may your name be, if I may take the liberty of asking?”
“Greaves, sir; John Greaves from the county of Durham.”
“Ah! a capital county that,” said I.
“You like the county, sir! God bless you! John!” said he in a loud voice, turning to the lad, “why don’t you offer to carry the gentleman’s knapsack?”
“Don’t let him trouble himself,” said I. “As I was just now saying, a capital county is Durham county.”
“You really had better let the boy carry your bag, sir.”
“No!” said I; “I would rather carry it myself. I question upon the whole whether there is a better county in England.”
“Is it long since your honour was in Durham county?”
“A good long time. A matter of forty years.”