"There now!" exclaimed the farmer's wife, a comfortable-looking matron some years younger than her husband. "If I didn't say to Trenchard I was sure the noses of you London gentlemen would find it out! Us country bodies don't notice it, bless you."
Eves grinned.
"'Tis true," the good woman went on; "it do need the brush. But there, what can you do when the milingtary takes the only sweep in the village and makes a soldier of him? I declare I didn't know him, he was so clean. 'Tis a strange thought: the war makes men clean and chimneys dirty."
"And takes away my appetite," said Eves, with his mouth half full of bacon. "Look here, Mrs. Trenchard, you're going to market to-morrow morning; why shouldn't we sweep the chimney for you while you're away? I'm sure Templeton and I could do it, and we'd like to, awfully."
"'Tis very kind of you, that I will say; but I couldn't abear to think of you dirtying yourselves."
"Oh, that's nothing. We get dirty enough on the farm."
"But that be clean dirt, not like the bothersome sut. Besides, there's no chimney brush and no rods."
"Quite unnecessary," declared Eves. "Templeton has invented a new way of sweeping chimneys, haven't you, Bob?" He gave him a kick under the table. "You've no idea what a lot of useful notions he's got in his head."
"Well now, did you ever?" said Mrs. Trenchard. "Do 'ee tell me all about it, Mr. Templeton."
"To-morrow, Mrs. Trenchard," said Eves, hastily. "You see, it's quite new, and hasn't been properly tried yet. An inventor never likes to talk about his inventions until he's proved they're a success."