“I’ve brought you these, Mrs Bruff,” he said.
“Toadstools, sir?” said the woman, opening her eyes widely.
“No; don’t call them by that name,” cried Macey, merrily; “they’re philogustators.”
“Kind of potaters, sir?” said the woman, innocently. “Are they for Eben to grow?”
“No, for you to cook for his tea. Don’t say anything, but stew them with a little water and butter, pepper and salt.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” cried the woman. “Are they good?”
“Delicious, if you cook them well.”
“Indeed I will, sir. Thank you so much.”
She took the basket, and wanted to pay for the present with some flowers, but the lads would only take a rosebud each, and went their way, to separate at the turning leading to the rectory gate.