"And what is it this time?"
"I be allus full up o' noos, bean't I?" he repeated.
"Yes, Ancient," said I, and sighed; "and what is your news?"
"Why, first of all, Peter, jest reach me my snuff-box, will 'ee?—'ere it be—in my back 'ind pocket—thankee! thankee!" Hereupon he knocked upon the lid with a bony knuckle. "I du be that full o' noos this marnin' that my innards be all of a quake, Peter, all of a quake!" he nodded, saying which, he sat down close beside me.
"Peter."
"Yes, Ancient?"
"Some day—when that theer old stapil be all rusted away, an' these old bones is a-restin' in the churchyard over to Cranbrook, Peter—you'll think, sometimes, o' the very old man as was always so full o' noos, won't 'ee, Peter?"
"Surely, Ancient, I shall never forget you," said I, and sighed.
"An' now, Peter," said the old man, extracting a pinch of snuff, "now for the noos—'bout Black Jarge, it be."
"What of him, Ancient?" The old man shook his head.