“So have you.”
“Long time since we met.”
“Ay, ’tis.”
“Like this here garden?”
“Middling.”
Each of these little questions and answers was accompanied by a blow dealt right out from the shoulder, sharp and short, till the men’s chests must have been a mass of bruises. Then they drew back, and stared at each other.
“Who told you to come and work in my garden?” said Nat at last.
“Nobody; I did it out of my own head.”
“And pray why?”
“Because I thought, if ever you came back, it would make you mad.”