"Who?" said I, looking up, and speaking for the first time.
"Squire Beverley o' Burn'am 'All."
"Sir Peregrine Beverley?"
"Ay, for sure."
"And how far is it to Burnham Hall?"
"'Ow fur?" repeated Job, staring; "why, it lays 't other side o'
Horsmonden—"
"It be a matter o' eight mile, Peter," said the Ancient.
"Nine, Peter!" cried old Amos—"nine mile, it be!"
"Though I won't swear, Peter," continued the Ancient, "I won't swear as it aren't—seven—call it six an' three quarters!" said he, with his eagle eye on Old Amos.
"Then I had better start now," said I, and rose.