“By sheer hard work, no doubt.”
“Ay, we hed to work, but that’s nowt after all. I wouldn’t gi’ a straw for a lad as can’t work, and is skeart of it. Why, when I went to the bit o’ farm, ‘Boottherboomp’ they used to call it then, cause of the ‘boottherboomps.’”
“Let me see, that’s your local name for the bittern, is it not?”
“Yes; big brown bird, some’at like a hern,” said old Bultitude. “They lives in wet, swampy places. Well, parson, that place was all one swamp when I went, and I says to mysen, where rushes is a growing now, I mean to grow wheat; and so every year I used to do nowt but spend i’ dreaning, and now there isn’t a finer farm i’ the county.”
“It’s perfect,” said the vicar, “perfect.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear thee say it, parson, because I know thee sayst what thee means, and thou’rt as good a judge of a crop and stack as iver I see, for a man as isn’t a farmer. It isn’t ivery man as comes fro’ the wild parts ’bout London as can tell as a hog or a hogget isn’t a pig, but a ship, and knows what he’s worth to a shilling or two. But just hearken to me, going on like that, when I wanted to say a word or two ’bout our John Maine.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, parson. I’m mortal feard that lad’s going wrong. He’s got some ’at on his mind, and he’s always in confab wi’ young Podmore as was Daisy Banks’ sweetheart, and there’s some mystery about it. Young Brough says he’s mixed up wi’ a blackguard low lot, poaching or some’at o’ that sort; but I don’t tak’ much notice o’ he, for he’s a bit jealous of him. But what I want you to do is to get hold of John and talk to him, for he’s upsetting our Jess, and I shall hev to get shoot of him if things don’t alter, and I doan’t want to do that, parson, for I rayther like the lad, if he’d go back to what he weer. Good day; you’ll see him, will you?”
“Indeed I will.”
“And young Podmore, too, parson?”