"Ben," she said, "will you come with me, and see me a part of my way home?"
"Yes, my dear, to be sure. Then you won't come and see the criturs fed to-day, I supposes?"
"No, no."
"Very well. Easy does it. Come along, my dear—come along. Lord love you! I'll take care of you. I should only like to see anybody look at you while you are with me, my duck. Bless your little bits of twinkling eyes!"
"Thank you—thank you."
"Lor! it's enough to make a fellow go mad in love, to see such criturs as you, my dear; but whenever I thinks of such things, I says to myself—'I'll just pop in and see Mother Oakley,' and that soon puts it all out of my head, I can tell you."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. You should go in at feeding time some day, and see her a-coming it strong with fried ingins."
"Fried what?"
"Ingins—ingins; round things. Ingions—ah! that's it."