'I want a house, not a post!' roared Redworth, spying a bare space.
The old man despatched a finger travelling to his nob. 'Naw, there's ne'er a house. But that's crassways for four roads, if it 's crassways, you wants.'
They journeyed backward. They were in such a maze of lanes that the old man was master, and Redworth vowed to be rid of him at the first cottage. This, however, they were long in reaching, and the old man was promptly through the garden-gate, hailing the people and securing 'information, before Redworth could well hear. He smiled at the dogged astuteness of a dense-headed old creature determined to establish a claim to his fee. They struck a lane sharp to the left.
'You're Sussex?' Redworth asked him, and was answered: 'Naw; the Sheers.'
Emerging from deliberation, the old man said: 'Ah'm a Hampshireman.'
'A capital county!'
'Heigh!' The old man heaved his chest. 'Once!'
'Why, what has happened to it?'
'Once it were a capital county, I say. Hah! you asks me what have happened to it. You take and go and look at it now. And down heer'll be no better soon, I tells 'em. When ah was a boy, old Hampshire was a proud country, wi' the old coaches and the old squires, and Harvest Homes, and Christmas merryings.—Cutting up the land! There's no pride in livin' theer, nor anywhere, as I sees, now.'
'You mean the railways.'