"And so they did bake their own bread. They'd buy some flour...."
I interrupted, remembering how he had himself grown corn, to ask if that was not rather the custom.
"Sometimes. Yes, I have growed corn as high as my own head, up there at the back of this cot.... But my old gal and me, when hoppin' was over, we'd buy some flour, enough to last us through the winter, and then with some taters, and a pig salted down, I'd say, 'There, we no call to starve, let the winter be what it will.' Well, taters, ye see, didn't cost nothin'; and then we always had a pig. You couldn't pass a cottage at that time that hadn't a pigsty.... And there was milk, and butter, and bread...."
"But not many comforts?" I queried.
"No; 'twas rough. But I dunno—they used to look as strong an' jolly as they do now. But 'twas poor money. The first farm-house I went to I never had but thirty shillin's and my grub."
"Thirty shillings in how long?"
"Twal'month. And I had to pay my washin' an' buy my own clothes out o' that."
The point was interesting. Did he buy his clothes at a shop, ready made?
"Yes. That was always same as 'tis now. Well, there was these round frocks—you'd get they"—home-made, he meant. And he told how his sister-in-law, Mrs. Loveland, and her mother "used to earn half a living" at making these "round" or smock frocks to order, for neighbours. The stuff was bought: the price for making it up was eighteen-pence, "or if you had much work on 'em, two shillin's."
Much fancy-work, did he mean?