"Ay, that she be, that she be."
"Why, then, Simon must be your son."
"Son as ever was!" nodded the old man, "and a goodish son 'e be tu—oh,
I've seen worse."
"And now," added Simon, "come in, and you shall taste as fine a jug of ale as there be in all Kent."
"Wait," said the old man, laying his hand upon my arm, "I've took to you, young chap, took to you amazin'; what might your name be?"
"Peter," I answered.
"A good name, a fine name," nodded the old man.
"Peter—Simon," said he, glancing from one to the other of us. "Simon—Peter; minds me o' the disciple of our blessed Lord, it du; a fine name be Peter."
So Peter I became to him thenceforth, and to the whole village.