"Holloa! my man; which is the way to Church-town?" Guy shouted to a labourer, who seemed to be doing his best to prop up a hedge.
The man struck work at once and came forward leisurely. He eyed us up and down, making a mental register of our marks. Then he seemed to take an interest in us and our business.
"Going Church-town, art a?"
"Yes, and which is the way?"
"Want to see Farmer? Well, then, a ed'n home. Farmer had fine field of wheat in ten-acre field, sure 'nuff, and he's gone to market. He was drashing yesterday, and the drashing machine cut off Tom Curnow's fingers. Ess sure, 'e ded."
"We don't want Farmer," said Guy, cutting in.
"Well, then, Tom Trebilcock? Tom's cow calved last week, and she's a good milker. Didn't know Tom was going to sell."
"Never mind Tom; tell us the road, the way, the what-you-like-to-call-it, to Church-town."
"There's passun's house close by the church, and passun's little mare is a good un to travel. They do say——"
"How do we get there?"